World of Warcraft: Dawn of the Ashbringer
by Desgarroth
Summary: Alliance and Horde unite under a common flag against the Lich King in Northrend, but the war has only just begun. Beyond the borders of Azeroth, armies march, and the Last Guardian prepares for one more task. Post WotLK, heavy spoilers alert.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Blizzard is not mine, the characters are not mine, World of Warcraft is not mine, I make no money off this. That should cover it.

Now, about this story. It's set after the current events in World of Warcraft (as of patch 3.0.8a), and essentially describes the future of the world of Warcraft as I envision it. Massive spoilers for WotLK content as well as most other Warcraft stories. All characters, locations etc involved are lore characters, whom I've tried to keep as in-character as possible. This is my take of how events could turn out after the Battle for Undercity. A small timespan is skipped in-between, but the events during it will be made clear as the story progresses. Since there's a strange canonical relation between the supposed deaths of major lore characters in their dungeon / raid incarnations and continuity, for the sake of this story, please consider any major lore characters that appear as dungeon or raid bosses and can apparently be killed by the player (example: Illidan etc) alive unless otherwise specifically stated. After all, with Blizzard characters, you can never be too sure about who's dead.

---

**Chapter I: World at War**

Nothing had been left to chance this time.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore and Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, accompanied by King Magni Bronzebeard and Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof of the Tauren - a shade crossed Jaina's eyes, as she reminisced on why Thrall wasn't here, but she quickly put it past her; what was done was done and there was no changing it - had assembled the bulk of the armies of both the Alliance and the Horde, and warped to Northrend. Upon the frozen lands they had encountered two more contigents of allies, the two most unlikely orders to join together against a common cause - the Knights of the Ebon Blade under Darion Mograine, and the Argent Crusade under Tirion Fordring. But the wrath of the Lich King had shattered many bonds, of hatred as much as friendship, and here they were, Humans and Night Elves, Orcs and Trolls, Dwarves and Gnomes, Tauren and even the Undead themselves, risen against a common foe. Not only them - legions of different creatures, from Centaurs to Owlkin to the exotic Pandaren had assembled to join the war that threatened them as much as any of the previous factions. The grand display was completed by the overwhelming presence of the Dragons, the ancient behemoths floating overhead. Against the combined might of the crusade assembled against it, Angrathar the Wrath Gate, final resting place of Saurfang the Younger and Bolvar Fordragon, brave heroes and the first who had challenged the new Lich King, fell with minimal resistance. The heroes of the Alliance still wondered at how easily they were able to eliminate the undead guards and tear down the fanged gate, entering the unholy lands of Icecrown Citadel.

Until now.

Vast as they were, the armies of the Argent Crusade could only be called an even match, at best, for what expected them before Angrathar. For every Night Elf sentinel, for every human warrior, for every dwarf, gnome, tauren, or deathknight that was out there, for every single member of the force gathered to stand up to the Lich King's might, ten undead seemed to face them from the opposite sides of the battlefield. Millions of Ghouls and Skeletons, Nerubian spiderlings and larger Crypt Fiends, or the horrid Abominations and bulky Obsidian Statues, coupled with rows of Meat Wagons and entire squads of Necromancers. The Dragonflights had their hideous counterparts as well - Frost Wyrms and Destroyers darkened the skies of Northrend. And if the Crusade had their champions and leaders, the Scourge did not lack those, for in front of the eastern wing of the undead towered the bulk of Anub'Arak, the ancient Crypt Lord, king of the Nerubians who had pledged his loyalty to the Lich King before and after his rebirth, and Kel'Thuzad, the phantom of Naxxramas and immortal Lich champion of the undead. Various other decaying forms clad in black armor with different insignia than the rest designated there were even more lower-ranked commanders and lieutenants, but the Crusaders only had eyes for one, the terror-inspiring form of the absolute entity of Azeroth, the reborn Lich King, the once Paladin, once Deathknight, now something greater...

...Arthas.

Even now, Jaina's eyes watered at memories she had sworn to forsake. When had it begun? Was it at Brill, where their confrontation with the scourge had begun? At Andorhal, where Kel'Thuzad foretold his fall? At Hearthglen? Or was it in Stratholme that the honorable prince's soul was seared in the fires of the purgatory he unleashed upon the city? Until that point, what was it that Jaina could have done to stop this flow of events? Was it destiny that had guided her away from her homeland, to the ancient lands of Kalimdor, and ensured the survival of at least some of her people? Or was it just self-preservation, and there was something that could have been done, something that could have been saved, had she stayed? Was it the Light that had forsaken Arthas, or was it herself?

"Fordring." The cold voice of the Lich King, dimmed by the visor of his unholy helmet, echoed across the silent soon-to-be battlefield - or slaughteryard. "I see you were more than empty words this time. You've brought some familiar faces along." His empty gaze stopped for a moment on Darion Mograine, who wavered but did not lower his eyes, before skimming through the rest of the Crusade's ranks. Was it her imagination, or had the Lich King's eyes lingered at her before moving on? How much of the cruel overlord of the Scourge was still Arthas? A defiled, haunted Arthas, but still the young prince she had once known - and loved?

"You seem talkative today, traitor." Tirion growled. "This is beyond words now. Fight, coward. Fight and face your destiny." The paladin walked forward, and the great sword, the legendary Ashbringer, glowed beneath the merciless sun of the frozen kingdom of the undead.

"As you wish." Came the deathly reply, and like the reaper's scythe, Frostmourne, the dark blade that had condemned the prince's soul, was drawn from his side. Silently, Jaina shed tears, hoping that noone would notice in the moment's tension. Tears for what must be done.

---

Elsewhere, amidst the plagued wastelands that were called Tirisfal Glades, another pair of cold, dead eyes observed a different, albeit quite impressive, military display. Sylvanas Windrunner, the Dark Queen of the Forsaken, had rallied her troops to march. Her ranks lacked not in fodder creatures, such as the vast number of Ghouls and mindless Skeletons, and even a decent number of Abominations, but her most prized subjects were the converted commanders of the Scourge, Necromancers and Banshees, and others, once human wizards and priests that had fallen to the undead plague, and had now defected into her embrace. Vastly superior to the Scourge's soldiers, the only problem so far had been how to match their opponent's overwhelming numbers. Those fools that had banded together into the Argent Crusade had solved that problem. Her gaze followed the foothills where the Meat Wagons that stored the New Plague, a plague with the capacity to eradicate living and undead alike, were positioned, ready for her order. The time had come.

"Open the portal to Icecrown." She commanded. Puttress had been a fool, she thought as the air rippled in front of her, her minions twisting space to eliminate the need to bring all those soldiers to Northrend with ships. He had lost his patience and sided with that other idiot, Varimathras, and caused her a load of trouble in the process. But now they were both dead, and she had once again control of the situation. She was going to thank the Horde and Alliance forces that had helped her regain her city by enlisting them to her ranks. After killing them, that is. As for the Scourge... her eyes glowed as she thought of the vengeance she was about to bestow upon her hated adversary. A special arrow, for him only. Imbued with the core of the new plague, this one would be the end of him. A hole in the air appeared, large enough to accomodate a thousand undead at once, showing the empty iceland that was Northrend. In the distance, the ruins of the Wrathgate were visible. Sylvanas had chosen this spot and this time exactly. Her spies had informed her of the Crusade's progress, and she was about to turn up right behind their backs, in a position where she could dominate the battlefield against both the Crusade and the Scourge.

"Move!" She began to order, but stopped as the edges of the portal waxed and waned, shimmering in the twilight that governed the Tirisfal Glades since the plague had settled in, and with a snapping sound closed abruptly, leaving traces of torn magic behind, enough residue to cause her ears to start ringing and her head to ache.

"What is this?!" She shouted once she was able to recover. "Who did this?"

"It wasn't us, my lady." One of the magicians assigned to the portal said fearfully, though of what had just happened or of her own wrath, she could not tell. "Someone disrupted our weave forcefully. I can't understand how this was done, but..."

"It's been a while, my lady." Sylvanas' head whipped around to detect the man who had just addressed her in her old, native tongue. Memories of an age long-lost filled her as she gazed upon the blonde elven prince.

"You!" She exclaimed as the figure of Kael'Thas Sunstrider, prince of the Quel'dorei, advanced towards her. She had heard he had defected from the Alliance and joined with the Night Elf traitor Illidan Stormrage and the Burning Legion, but she had assumed he was somewhere in the Outland. To have him appear here, at this time, and in force... many other stern-faced High Elves - no, Blood Elves, as they now called themselves - stood behind him, all armed and apparently ready to fight. "What are you doing here?" She demanded angrily." Unlike her, he hadn't changed. His still beautiful elven features seemed a mockery to her hollow form, a disgrace. A shame she had hoped she had left behind, but had just found out she could not even begin to bear.

"I bring forth a suggestion. A request, if you wish." The pleasant, casualy way he spoke angered Sylvanas almost as much as the fact that he was interfering with her plans. Her prince he might have been, but that was long ago. "My master fears your interference in Northrend may ruin his plans for the Lich King's fate, so he has requested that your armies stay here." He looked behind her, at the assembled force of the Forsaken, his eyes showing nothing.

"Your master? Illidan?" Sylvanas asked. She had presumed Illidan to be dead after Arthas' ascension to the Frozen Throne, but apparently he was one of the bastards who just wouldn't die, just like Arthas himself. He, too, was somewhere in Outland, though the way the day was going, she would not be surprised to have him turn up and ruin another one of her carefully designed plans.

"I'm afraid not." Kael's eyes focused on her again. No, he had changed, after all. His eyes were tilted with the taint of arcane corruption, the bane of the Quel'dorei. How far had he fallen, serving his demonic commanders? "I serve a higher power now."

Before Sylvanas could respond, a commotion behind Kael'thas drew her attention. "Ah, yes." The leader of the blood elves said airily. "He has sent some gentlemen to deliver his greetings, as well."

Things suddenly got much, much more complicated for the Forsaken queen, as from within the Blood Elven ranks, three Dreadlords emerged.

---

"Today, our dead brethren shall be avenged."

"Today, our true enemies shall perish."

"Today, the Light will shine upon our victory, upon our glory."

"TODAY IS THE DAY OF THE ALLIANCE!!"

Thousands upon thousands of voices relayed those words, as King Varian Wrynn raised his heavy two-handed blade overhead, stimulating the enthusiasm and a desire to fight not far from sheer bloodlust to the countless humans that had answered his call. Fools were those that believed their enemies stopped short at the Lich King and his minions. Fools were those that believed that any sort of victory could be achieved while those bastard orcs and their so-called Horde roamed unmolested while holding half the world captive. Any combined front with the Horde was bound to break before the Scourge. Purging the undead would serve nothing if the Alliance remained oppressed by the vile greenskins and their brethren. Only after establishing true dominance in the realms of Azeroth could the fight be taken to Northrend and the traitor prince be brought to heel. But the Eastern Kingdoms could not be reclaimed if the Horde forces there were constantly reinforced by their home bases in Kalimdor. Varian Wrynn did not care much about the tree-loving elves, or the bizarre new 'allies', the so-called draenei, but the humans who lived in Kalimdor too deserved their freedom from the Horde. No, Durotar was a thorn in the side of the Alliance in many ways. The Orc mockery of a nation had to be purged for the King's vision of a united world, of one true Alliance, to be fulfilled.

_I will not follow a mad King_. Jaina had told him angrily before storming out of the Royal Chamber of Stormwind, ordering her forces to prepare for departure towards Northrend, where they would join with whatever standing forces had remained there after the King had called back for all available soldiers in order to wage this war against the Frozen Throne. Foolishness. That was madness. If the girl could only see the logic of this... bah. It was too late either way. Before the day was over, Orgrimmar would be dust to the ground and Theramore would be his. Jaina, if she survived, would be nothing but an unimportant nuisance.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!!" The familar orc warcry sounded from the other side of the battlefield. Varian Wrynn gazed upon the truly vast numbers of the Horde. He had made no effort to keep his preparations secret. This was not going to be a surprise attack. He would destroy the Horde on his terms, and prove the difference between the Orcs' brutish bloodlust and his honorable way with the sharp end of his blade.

"Their Warchief is with them." Broll, the trusted Night Elf druid and the only one of the pinkskins on the battlefield, growled. True enough, Thrall led the defensive, mounted on his giant black wolf and wielding the legendary weapon of Doomhammer. Varian had hypothesized he'd be in Northrend, but this made things much more fitting. He'd be able to bring the Horde to heel by eliminating their very Warchief. Once the leader was lost, the trash would crumble.

"Well, shall we begin?" Valeera asked calmly. She was not fazed by the barbarians' display. Neither was he. Like his own ranks, which held not only humans, but dwarves and gnomes as well - none of the draenei or the Night Elves had either asked or been asked to involve themselves in the conflict - Thrall's army had been bolstered by the vicious Trolls, as well as several gigantic Tauren. The absence of undead and so-called Blood Elves was notable - then again, theirs was only a mock alliance, just as the one between the residents of the Eastern Kingdoms and the Alliance in Kalimdor. In time, truth would be revealed, and those who truly stood with their King this day would bathe in the Light of victory.

"FOR THE ALLIANCE!!" The King screamed, and charged.

---

"We are ready to move." Velen's voice resounded clearly in the central chamber of the Terrace of Light. "A'dal, with your blessing..."

"No!" The naaru's voice suddenly spoke up, sounding... agitated. Velen had never heard the divine entity like that before. As one, the heads of the ten thousand draenei that had been assembled, including those from Shattrath city and from Exodar, as well as several of the Broken tribes, and even the Scryer Blood Elf defectors, whipped up in shock. They were ready to warp to Northrend via the newly-opened portal to the Icecrown in order to aid the Alliance against the undead Scourge. But now...

"You must not go!" A'dal sounded strained, in pain. "There is... a huge darkness looming over us. A monstrous evil. This is..."

"Prophet!!" A scream was just heard from outside the corridors. One of the few draenei guards that had remained on Shattrath's walls stormed into the sacred chamber, panting heavily. "A huge army is upon us! Demons, and Fel Orcs, and Blood Elves as well! And at it's head, it's..." He paused, from fear of uttering the next words as well as to take a breath.

"Illidan." Voren'thal the Seer, the Scryer's leader, finished for him. "He's come at last, and with what timing. He probably hoped to storm the citadel and steal the naaru's essence while we were gone."

Velen sighed mentally. The day they feared for so long had come, and at an inconvenient time. And now they had to fight the one who had helped them kill one tyrant - and replaced him in the process.

"Get in position." He ordered. "Prepare for the siege."

---

In Outland, Kalimdor, Lordaeron, and Northrend, four decisive battles are about to begin. Four battles, four wars, that will determine the fate of the entire world. No race can stay out of it. The war of the worlds has begun.

And Medivh, the Prophet, the Last Guardian, must now gaze upon the consequences of a catastrophe he had helped shape. But he could not linger long. He had another, most important mission to accomplish.

Shifting into a crow, he flew off, flew to where he could carve his own, last part in history.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II: Argent Pride Beneath a Frozen Sky**

Every archer's bow was nocked. Every dwarf's rifle was armed. Every sword was drawn, every shield held forth, every mount's reigns in hand. Every soldier held his breath, his senses alert, ready for the chaos to come. Yet noone moved. The Argent Crusade awaited, everyone afraid of the battle to come, but everyone too brave, too proud, too desperate to let it interfere with their morale. This was all – or nothing.

"Listen to me." Tirion said, standing in front of the Crusade's forces. "Don't do anything foolish. Only the Ashbringer has enough power to stand up to him." The sacred blade was raised, pointing against the Lich King's chest from afar – Jaina noticed the Paladin's hand tremble, as if he wanted to thrust the sword from that range into his nemesis' heart. Well, he probably did.

"We know that already, Paladin." Tyrande Whisperwind said coldly. "You will deal with the Lich King – we will keep the rest of his forces off your back while you fight." The leader of the Night Elves seemed not to enjoy the fact that she had a lesser role to play today, but at least she understood that it had to be that way. Jaina herself understood. Despite the unbearable responsibility she felt haunting her, prompting her to confront Arthas with her very own hands, she had to stay back. She was not powerful enough – she had no delusions about that – but there was also another reason. Even if she was the one to defeat Arthas, was she strong enough to do what she had to? Was she determined enough to kill him, when she still felt the guilt for his fate tormenting her? Jaina was not ready to answer those questions, and if the answer was the wrong one, all could be lost. All would be lost. So, she would stay back and support Tirion as best as she could.

"Are you finished plotting, Paladin? Come against me as you will, if you are ready. The grave will devour you whole." Arthas' frozen voice broke Jaina's thoughts. It was the first time Jaina had a chance to gaze at the Lich King from so close. His form was terrifying, but to her, like any other person here with a high attunement to magic, the power of the sword and helm was much more terrifying. It was as if staring into an abyss, yet two spots were darker than black. What untold energies from the Twisting Nether and beyond had been bestowed upon the Lich King when he first came to this world? How much had they grown, once he was able to free himself from the confines of the Frozen Throne? How much of Arthas' power lay now at the Lich King's disposal?

How was victory possible at all, in the face of such odds?

"Oh, I am ready, Arthas. I've been ready for a long time." Tirion said, and suddenly, Jaina felt hope return to her. Yes, the odds were overwhelming. Yes, the Lich King was powerful. Yet Azeroth had never seen such a large army united into a common end. The greatest heroes of the Alliance, of the Horde – most of them, at least; Jaina's thoughts traveled to Wrynn and the foolish war he was preparing to wage, and Thrall who had to stay behind and defend his people against this madness – had gathered together, under the banner of the Argent Crusade and the might of the Ashbringer. Only half that much had vanquished Archimonde – at great costs, but still – several years ago. Yes, all was not lost. Hope could still be found even in their darkest hour.

"We are all ready." Tyrande said firmly, her Nightsaber roaring.

"The time has come for you to pay, Arthas." The dwarven King growled, the injustice of his brother's near-death and suffering from the fallen prince's exploits still grinding at his nerves.

"You have caused much pain to these lands with your vile corruption." Cairne added, his tone reflecting the sadness for the suffering all beings of Azeroth had been forced to endure. "It has to end."

"Your crimes against my people – _your_ people – will not go unpunished." Mograine said coldly. "You lead us to our death, but only staged your own demise with your treachery." The Death Knights' cold stares, dead as the grave, were almost as frightening as the ones from the opposing side of the battlefield. What would happen to those people, if ever peace was restored? Was there a place for them in the lands, or would they suffer prejudice and hatred until their final day? Jaina couldn't provide a realistic solution, but she knew one thing: the Lich King was responsible for their fate. For all the fates of the countless of people sacrificed to the undead. He had much to answer for. Silently, softly, she repeated Cairne's words.

"It has to end."

The entire army moved as one, Tirion at its head. The Undead Scourge responded, and the two gargantuan masses broke to a run, rushing to meet each other in battle.

"FOR THE CRUSADE!!" Tirion yelled. "FOR THE LIGHT!!" And then there was chaos.

---

Metal clang against metal, sword against hammer, each pushing, slashing, smashing, but none able to gain ground. Regardless, Varian Wrynn did not hesitate for an instance, following up on each strike with another, and another. The Orcs would fall today, and the man before him, their accursed Warchief, would be one of the first.

"Foolish human!" Thrall growled, fending off Wrynn's furious blow with his hammer. "Can't you see this is madness? We shouldn't be fighting against each other – we should be supporting the Crusade against the Lich King!"

"Oh, there will be plenty of time to deal with that traitor, orc. Once I'm done with you, that is." The human king, deploying the skills he had learnt as a gladiator in the arena of the orcs, raised the blade overhead before swiftly bringing it down. Thrall's hammer was too heavy, too cumbersome to move in time, and the cold steel carved a deep wound into the orc's forearm.

"Have it your way, then. I will not let you kill my people!" Thrall's mount stepped backwards, and the warchief raised his hammer – though the distance was too great for him to use it. Cautiously, Wrynn raised his own weapon as defense. Would he throw it? That would be a reckless maneouver – it could mean the end of the fight if it hit, but if he missed, he would be defenseless.

The sky cackled with electricity as a jolt of lightning was flung from the hammerhead, too fast for the eye to follow, striking Wrynn head-on. The former gladiator screamed as the powerful current ran through his body, conducted by his metallic breastplate. Those accursed shamanistic powers! He had forgotten about them. So the orc was too much fo a coward to take him head-on. Very well. Varian Wrynn had not earned the name of Lo'Gosh for nothing. With a roar, he shrugged off the shock and paralysis, ignoring the charred patches of his skin and his blackened breastplate. What must be overcome can be defeated.

"Is that all you've got, Horde dog?" He taunted, closing the gap in two steps – this time his slice was aimed at the wolfhound that Thrall rode. Fast as the Warchief was, he did not manage to completely avoid the blow by steering the creature out of the way, and Varian's blade cut open a narrow slice along the beast's side, which howled in rage and pain. At the same time, from behind the warchief, a gargantuan form towered – Broll had slipped in unnoticed behind the line of warriors that were clashing around their leaders, trying to gain ground over each other, and, now transformed into his bear form, was ready to fell the orc in one swift blow.

Something barely visible, like something just on the edge of sight, blocked Broll's attack – another similar shape was thrust against the druid's chest, throwing him on his back. After blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the sight, Varian Wrynn recognized the shapes of two Ghost Wolves, vile spirit beasts that could be called upon by shamans. So Thrall was not completely unprepared. But the Kor'Kron elite guard, fighting around their their leader, had already noticed the invader in their midst – decapacitated, even in his deadly bear form, Broll would die in an instant if Varian didn't interfere. Grinding his teeth – why had the fool jumped in like that? – he prepared to charge, but arcane fire suddenly took one of the Kor'Kron's in the chest, searing him whole and bringing the rest to a halt. Right next to Varian, Valeera Sanguinar, his blood elf companion during his gladiator days, appeared, her hand still aflame from the spell she had cast. Quickly recovering his focus, Broll shapeshifted again, this time into a tiger, and rushed between the Kor'Kron warriors, dodging the spirit wolves vicious attacks to stand on Varian Wrynn's other side, changing back into his humanoid shape.

"What now, Varian?" Valeera asked, as the trio confronted the orc leader and his powerful guards. Fire was still blazing in her hand, ready to be unleashed in another deadly strike. "Can we really win like this?" Varian didn't need to follow the direction she had nodded towards to know that Marcus Jonathan and his charge were being held at bay by the Trolls, who had managed to gain the high ground and were tossing boulders, boiling oil and even spears at the valiant knights. He ground his teeth. Thrall was right in front of him, but surrounded by his minions, he was out of reach. For now.

"Retreat!" The king ordered, and the human army began pulling back. Retreat – but not from the war. Not even from the first battle. They would regroup and charge again, and this time, he would definitely bring his hated foe to his knees.

---

"Stand fast!"

"For the Alliance!"

"Elune, guide us!"

Different warcries, but all meant for the same goal – empower the Crusade's forces as they faced the overwhelming might of the undead. The throng of warriors had formed a gigantic circle with a tiny hole in its midst – in that space, Tirion Fordring and the Lich King was dueling, and noone wanted to be too close to where two of the greatest swords of all times, wielded by two of the greatest warriors of all times, clashed against each other. The ice, thick beyond imagining in this heart of winter, had already began cracking beneath the two champions' feet, and each time the runeblade collided with the greatsword, the air filled with sparks, the aftermath of two powerful magics forced to their limits to destroy one another.

Jaina looked around her. She was standing in the middle of the human army. Five ranks in front of her, the frontlines of the champions of Theramore and the undead beasts were fighting, the ice painted crimson and green with blood and the vile insides of the slain undead. She was mostly supporting her troops, blasting the most dangerous foes with her magical staff from afar, and protecting them as well as she could with barriers when an arcane assault came their way, but she was holding back on her real power. As much as it pained her to see her people die in desperation, she knew that if she wasted her mana here, she would be unable to help in a critical situation.

Such a situation arose sooner than Jaina expected. Abruptly, the already deathly low temperature dropped beyond freezing point. Jaina's spellbound cloak shielded her from the cold, but it did not affect her troops – many began screaming as their skin suddenly crystallized into ice, freezing them on the spot. Suddenly, the frozen humans shattered into pieces, opening a trail of ice shards that led straight from the undead ranks to Jaina. However, the charge of ghouls and skeletons she had expected did not come. Instead, from within the depths of the army, a single figure walked forward to meet her from afar – no, hovered forward. He had changed much since she had last seen him, and much more since their days in Kirin Tor, but still she had no trouble recognizing the once renowned magician, now undead Lich.

"Kel'Thuzad." She whispered, venom dripping from his voice. It was he who had began the path that would lead Lordaeron to its doom.

"Why yes. I'm surprised you remember me." Kel'Thuzad replied. His voice was a whisper as well, although that was most likely his natural tone now that he had turned into this abomination. "You have grown well, Jaina. I am proud of your progress. But unfortunately, I have to end your life now." His skeletal hand rose, and Jaina felt the cold that had receded since Kel'Thuzad's strike sharpen again.

"Bring it, Lich." She growled, raising her staff.

---

Cairne glanced worriedly towards the west, where Jaina's troops were stationed. Something had happened, but he was too far to see clearly. He could only pray that Jaina was safe. If there was ever to be peace for the Horde and the Alliance, she was needed there. She shouldn't have come here. But what was done was done.

Not unlike Jaina, Cairne had taken a role of support to his soldiers. The Tauren were few in number, but fearsome, and they had been bolstered by the addition of Pandaren and even some of their former enemies, the Centaur, that had joined their ranks against the Lich King's undead. Cairne was maintaining totems which served to protect and empower the brave warriors that fought in the frontlines, saving his own strength for where it would truly be needed.

A commotion ahead drew his attention, and with great pain his eyes watched the head of one of his fellow Tauren fly into the sky, completely separated from his body, before it fell down next to him. That was Harutt Thunderhorn, one of the greatest warriors of the Thunderhorn clan, and by extension of the Tauren as a whole. As much grief as Cairne felt for his death, he would have to mourn him later. Few things could cut a Tauren's head clean off – fewer still could achieve this with a warrior of Harutt's caliber. This threat had to be addressed with before the front broke under the pressure. Lifting his battle-axe off the ground, Cairne moved forward to face this horrible foe.

Though he clearly had the feel of death about him, the man looked very much like a human. Mounted on one of the Scourge's undead horses, he was swinging an axe of his own, easily parrying and deflecting another Tauren's attack. As he prepared to deliver his final blow, Cairne raised his weapon.

"Enough!" He bellowed, and with the fury of the Earth, unleashed a shockwave of primal energy that carved a path of destruction on the frozen battlefield, separating the two duelists. The horseman's mount, unfazed, stepped back to avoid the blast – the Death Knight himself turned his head, encased in a terrible horned visor, to gaze upon the interference.

"You dare step between Salanar and his prey?" He said quietly, his words a promise of death. "Then your soul will be claimed first."

Cairne prayed to Mother Nature, a silent, short expression of gratitude for the life that had been gifted to him, should it end here, and moved in to attack.

---

King Magni Bronzebeard's forces were slowly gaining ground. The King himself was fighting in the very front, his twin hammers smashing ghoulish skulls and nerubian carapaces with a single strike. Just to the west of where the duel between Arthas and Tirion was taking place, the dwarves were positioned in full force, gaining ground against their unholy foes.

"Dwarves! To me! Push them! Break them!" Magni yelled, consumed by the rage of battle. The encouragement was hardly necessary – each and every one of the dwarves that were with him had been waiting for this moment, and whether swinging his hammer, shooting his rifle, or launching mortar shells, he was doing the best he could to crush their vile foes.

"King Magni! Watch out!" A scream echoed to his left, and he felt something push him out of the way. Even as he turned to see the cause of this disturbance, spikes that seemingly spawned out of the ice below them impaled one of his dwarf guards, presumably the one that had just saved his life, and retreated immediately back beneath the surface, leaving the dwarf a bloody mass on the floor.

"Yeh bastard!!" Magni yelled, turning around and tossing his warhammer, with all the formidable might he could muster, in the direction the row of spikes had come from. A prolonged, screeching dull thud roared above the sounds of battle, and the Thane of Ironforge could only watch in awe as his weapon was deflected against the thick carapace of a nerubian spider.

Even had Magni not been a dwarf, he would have found the creature's size impressive. Looming over the rest of the undead at a size larger than that of an Abomination, the Crypt Lord made Magni's warriors look like miniatures. Against such a creature, Magni only had one chance. Taking advantage of the moment of stunned confusion his strike had inflicted upon his foe, he grabbed his remaining hammer with both hands.

"ATTACK!! FOR KHAZ-MODAN!!" He roared, brandishing his axe as he called upon the great power of the mountainlords, feeling the strength of the entire dwarf race boiling in his veins as he charged against Anub'Arak, the Nerubian champion of the Lich King.

---

Around the area where the Lich King fought Tirion Fordring, the elite of the elite of each side's fighting forces had assembled, warring for one small inch of control over the battlefield. To the east, the Paladins that stemmed from the previous Order of the Silver Hand under Nicholas Zverenhoff and Maxwell Tyrosus held the undead at bay. Barely. On the other side, though, the Order of the Ebon Blade, the former champions of the Scourge, were faring quite well against their undead counterparts. Familiar with the fighting style and power of the Death Knights, the Highlord Mograine had no problem strategizing in order to defeat them.

Even without the Ashbringer, Mograine's power as a Death Knight was more than frightening. Two of the Lich King's best warriors had been felled by his runeblade. As it was, in the entire front of the battle, Mograine's assault had gained the most ground against the undead, having almost circumvented the spot where the deathmatch between the Lich King and the Paladin was taking place. In this battle of no hope, they would prevail, or they would find redemption in death. This, Mograine had sworn.

"What ferocity you fight with, _Highlord_. Is it redemption you seek, or simply vengeance?"

Mograine had been expecting this ever since he found himself on the opposing side of the battlefield with his former associates, the Death Knights who had not defected into the Argent Crusade.

"Valanar." He addressed the Scourge's overlord. "I was waiting for this moment."

"So have I." Came the cold response, feint mockery left behind, as runeblade was drawn against runeblade, and the Highlord of the Ebon Blade clashed swords with the Dark Prince of Naxxanar.

---

Tyrande Whisperwind had lived many years, even by Kaldorei standards, yet never in her entire lifetime had she witnessed a battle as grand and gruesome as this one. The Night Elves and the Tauren had been given the westernmost and easternmost flanks to man, as they had been judged the least likely to break under overwhelming pressure and most capable of holding their ground, preventing the Crusade's army from being surrounded and decimated. Shapeshifted Druids of the Claw were holding the front, assisted by cumbersome Mountain Giants and supported by the more agile of the Huntresses, while the High Priestess and the bulk of the sentinel forces, as well as the Dryads and Druids of the Talon that had come to assist them in this dark hour, rained down arrows and magical strikes from afar, thinning the attacker's ranks. To the east, the Dwarves were fighting, slowly but steadily pushing the undead – the charge had stopped now, though, and with the corner of her eye, Tyrande could see the giant shape of a Crypt Lord; but, she did not have the luxury to distract herself from the battle for long. Further still, around the core of the battlefield where the duel between Tirion and the Lich King, the Knights of the Ebon Blade and the human Paladins were fighting the Scourge Death Knights, and beyond that, out of sight for even the sharp-eyed Tyrande, the humans of Theramore and the forces of the Horde, as well as the remainder of the allied troops, were holding out. Holding still, else they would all have been dead by now. The dragons and the flying creatures the Scourge had set against them were also fighting overhead, but for now, they were content with staying at range and unleashing their attacks from afar, resulting in a sort of aerial stalemate.

_The draenei are supposed to be here by now. _Tyrande was obviously not the only one to have noticed that the draenei had not arrived as arranged to support them, and she was also not the only one to not have the time to wonder about what had interfered with the plan. Last, she was also not the only one to question whether the difference that their absence made would be enough to determine the outcome of the battle.

Divided as her attention was between shooting her arrows and worrying about the draenei, the only warning Tyrande had was the swooping sound of wings and claws slashing through the sky, far below the altitude where the dragons were flying. She only had time to force Ash'alah, her Frostsaber, out of the way of the white-winged spectre of a woman that descended from above against her, aiming to cleave her head off with her hand-held scythe. Other Sentinels were not so lucky, and at least a dozen of them perished before they turned to face this new airborne foe in the face five of the ghastly female warriors.

Tyrande had only heard rumors of the Val'kyr, female Vrykul of Valkyrion that have been willingly turned into undead by the Lich King, and were chosen to fight by his side. It was a shame she did not have the chance to study their combat style and techniques before having to fight them, but it was too late for regrets now. Moving her Frostsaber in position, she nocked another arrow to her bow and aimed.

"Scary reflexes you have there, Night Elf." The harbinger of death said, her voice as that of an undead banshee. "Let's see how you fare against Olrun, the Battlecaller of the Scourge."

---

While the cataclysmic battle above shook the entire continent to its very foundations, far beneath the frozen surface of Northrend, an ancient evil stirred. Sealed away but not destroyed, the Old Gods of Azeroth, hailing from an era before even the Titans, were preparing for a new age.

An age of chaos.

-----------------------------------------

Author's Notes: The second installment is here already, although the pace will slow down later, probably. Thanks for the reviews so far, I sincerely hope everyone who read this story enjoyed it. All comments, notes etc are greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III: The Dark Side of Despair**

_Lady Vashj, overlord of the Naga in Outland, was very surprised to receive Illidan's summons. Like mostly every one of his former and current servitors, she had heard the news of his demise, however, unlike others, her own spies had informed her that operations in the Black Temple continued just as before Illidan's death. From her point of view, that could mean only two things – Illidan was alive, or someone else had taken control of the Black Citadel. Either way, she did not care much – Illidan's role had been nearly finished by now, and being left to her own devices within the Coilfang Reservoir deep in Zangarmarsh suited her plans best. _

_It had been nearly a year since her last contact with Illidan – Lady Vashj had heard that the demon hunter had been haunted by madness before his death, and in that state, it wasn't entirely unexpected that he hadn't bothered with her or her Naga – so the order that arrived with one of Illidan's new fel orc servants, within her inner chambers in the Serpentshrine Cavern nonetheless, had caught her completely off-guard. But, whether Illidan was still alive or someone had usurped his place, it would be unwise to ignore it – so she headed out for the Black Temple with an appropriate escort of her elite guard._

_Upon reaching the summit of the Black Citadel, Vashj did come face-to-face with her supposedly dead master. The experience was as uncomfortable as always – Vashj herself was thought and feared as somewhat of a demon, but Illidan was more than that; higher than that, his mere presence felt like a scorching heat that threatened to burn everything to dust, the concealed holes beneath the blindfold far more frightening than the most piercing gaze. Vashj visibly shuddered at the display – Illidan's power had grown even further since their last encounter. But, there were powers far greater than Illidan, and compared to having to face her wrath, Vashj would much rather put up with the fallen night elf._

"_Lord Illidan." She hissed, bowing her head respectfully. "Forgive me, but I thought you were – "_

"_Dead?" Illidan asked preemptively. "Yes. I had to feign madness to lure Kil'Jaeden into thinking I was no threat, and when that went down the drain, I had to stage my own death to get him off my back." So the Burning Legion had still been hot on Illidan's trail. But he had managed to outsmart them, or he would not have been standing here. Impressive, and troublesome._

"_I am glad you are alive, my Lord." The naga leader said neutrally, as Illidan clearly expected some response from her. "May I ask why I was summoned?"_

"_Certainly." Illidan walked to the balcony's edge, gazing down at the endless plains of the Shadowmoon Valley below. "My plan was working perfectly, all I needed was a little more time. That boy, Kael'Thas, and his little research project unwittingly helped me further my research on how to tackle the Legion. In the end, I found a way, but by that time M'uru was dead and Kael had vanished, and Kil'Jaeden had caught on to my trail. It is only a matter of time before the Legion mounts an assault against this place – Kil'Jaeden forgave my failure twice, but there will be no third chance, especially as I have nothing to offer him now. Had he known what I was planning, he'd be here already, and I would be dead."_

"_What is it that you intend to do?" Vashj asked, her curiosity piqued. If Illidan had actually found something that could combat the power of Kil'Jaeden…_

"_The naaru." Illidan said impatiently. "They can act as sources of energy. I can use that power to defeat Kil'Jaeden and destroy the Legion's hold on Outland. Then, I can return to Northrend and kill the Lich King."_

"_Correct, but I can't see how you will succeed in that – the only naaru whose whereabouts I am aware of is A'dal and the rest of his kin in Shattrath. Even if you did manage to subjugate one of those, Kael'Thas could only tap into M'uru's power slowly and in small amounts to empower his Blood Knights. Surely that much power could not be contained in a mortal body."_

"_I can do it." Illidan replied, and Vashj discerned harshness in his voice. How much of his madness was feigned, after all? Now that she observed him better, he seemed tired. Very tired. How long was it since he had last slept, for fear of being ambushed by the Burning Legion?_

"_And how do you plan on stealing a naaru's energy?" Vashj inquired._

"_We are invading Shattrath. I have something – an artifact – that can negate a naaru's protective power. With it, I should be able to conquer A'dal's strength. I was hoping to wait until the rest of their pathetic army had left the city, but my time is up. That's why I summoned you here. You are to assemble every one of our forces you can muster and meet me on the outskirts of Terrorkar Forest tomorrow morning. Kill everyone who stands in your way."_

"_As you command." Vashj said noncommittally, and left to obey the orders of the Lord of Outland._

---

"Dreadlords." Sylvanas almost spat. "Have you come to avenge the death of your friends?"

"Hardly." One of the winged demonic creatures, the harbingers of the Legion's will, spoke. "As it stands, though the law of the Nathrezim binds us against committing murder against one another, we care little for the well-being of those that belong to opposing factions than us. And those three that were killed by your involvement are hardly of any concern to us."

"You, however. Your exploits pose a problem to Lord Kil'Jaeden's plans." The second of the Dreadlords picked up smoothly.

"I see." Sylvanas replied neutrally. "And what would you have me do about it?"

"For starters," the third of the demons began "you shall surrender control of the Forsaken to us. You will retain some of the admirable extent of influence upon them, but they shall become what the Scourge should have been – the Legion's weapon on Azeroth. Once the battle in the north is over, Kael'Thas will lead the undead there to destroy what is left of the winner. Then, our dominion over Azeroth will be set in stone."

"And what if I refuse?"

"Then we will kill you – permanently, along with whatever resistance is offered, and go on with the plan. You are expendable now, Dark Lady. We are making an offer that you can't refuse."

Sylvanas weighed the situation. True enough, she was outmatched – her forces were only half of what they used to be before the coup in Undercity, and she knew better than everyone that on these odds, an army of Highborne empowered with fel magic would decimate her forces. The Dreadlords' presence only served to complicate the situation further. But, there was one thing left unaccounted for. The New Plague. It would work on the Blood Elves as well as the Nathrezim. It would have to be, for the Queen of the Forsaken had no intention of abandoning her claims on her minions.

"This is my answer, Dreadlord." She said, drawing an arrow and arming her bow in the blink of an eye. "Die."

---

Only the faint whisper of wind spoiling the smooth surface of hard sand that covered the northern region of Hellfire Peninsula could have served as a warning, but even if there was time to hear it, there was no time to respond to it. The bladed circle moved faster than the eye could see, and the target's head fell on the ground with a barely audible thud.

"I grow weary of this." Maiev Shadowsong growled, not for the first time. "Isn't there anything in this land that can put an end to me?" The sorcerer she had just felled – she assumed he was a sorcerer from the way he attacked her with bolts of shadow from afar; but she didn't care either way – and his pet felhound which, now that the energy sustaining it in this plane of existence was suddenly cut off, wailed agonizingly as it was forcefully warped back to the Twisting Nether, were two of the countless victims of the former Warden during her pursuit of death.

When was it since she had last slept? How many days, weeks, months had it been since she had last eaten, or drunk anything other than bitter water from the vile marshlands of Zangarmarsh? How much time had passed since her body had long collapsed from exhaustion, and only her iron Sentinel will kept her going, searching to die in an honorable way in this forsaken land? She couldn't bring herself to care.

"You are strong, little elf. Perhaps you will provide some amusement."

Whatever the demon may have believed, Maiev had not been caught off-guard. Her senses had been honed so finely that she had sensed his presence long before he came close enough to begin to sneak up on her. Not that she had any problem on picking up on him afterwards – the massive size of a Pit Lord made sneaking around about as plausible an option as Maiev flying.

"You talk too much, demon." Without even looking behind her, she blinked at his direction, her umbra crescent already striking for a kill. Unsurprisingly, the cold blade met demon-wrought steel, and she relinquished her assault by pulling backwards. He was a Pit Lord, after all.

"Very nice!" The brutal creature roared, pleasure in his voice. "You fight well, for an elf."

Having twisted around to strike, Maiev took in the form of her opponent. Massive, even for a Pit Lord, the beast towered over her, partly blocking the scorching sun. Something about him was different than others the Warden had seen. His sword was comprised of only a single blade, which shone a sickly green in color rather than the usual stark metallic. His wings were also larger than usual, almost looking fitting for his size.

"Spare me the pleasantries." Maiev spat. "If you're not coming, then I am." True to her word, the Sentinel thrust an envenomed dagger at her brutish foe, and sped forth to meet him blade-to-blade. With the corner of her eye she caught her dagger being deflected – not that she had any hope it would hit – and concentrated on her attack. The giant sword came swooping down for her, but she blinked upwards, settling herself on the massive demon's clenched fist, which was almost a suitable enough position for the sleek elf, and, without wasting time, leapt up once again to cut a wound across the Pit Lord's neck deep enough to kill him.

Few enough amongst the kaldorei had reflexes fast enough to catch up with Maiev's bursts of speed. Amongst the bulkiest and most cumbersome race of demons, she never expected to find one. Thus, she was appropriately shocked when the demon lord's free hand came up, clutching her in a tight grip. She writhed within the Pit Lord's grasp, struggled, but it was in vain – when it came to brute strength, she was painfully outmatched. Closing her eyes, Maiev thought that it was as good an end as any, and closed her eyes while she prepared to relinquish herself to Elune's embrace.

But the finishing blow did not come as expected. Instead, she heard the demon's deep laughter. Grinding her teeth at this mockery, she struggled against the hand that was holding her, only to be violently released and tossed against the ground, where she lay in a heap, coughing blood. Even to Maiev's hardened body, just a few minutes of being held like that were excruciatingly painful.

"I can see what Lord Kazzak saw in you. I've come with a message, night elf." Maiev tried fruitlessly to hold her head up. She had no idea who this lord Kazzak was or what he had to do with her, and didn't care. She just wanted to die and get it over with.

"Illidan is still alive."

Maiev's world shattered around her. Pain, exhaustion, deathwish – all forgotten in an instant. She sprang back to her feet.

"Where?" She only asked. The demon laughed.

"Shattrath City." He said, and turned around towards the east without even looking back.

"Illidan." Maiev whispered, and darted off as well, although to an entirely different direction.

The hunt was on again.

---

"Hmm. Are you certain about this wretched girl's ability?" Kil'Jaeden, seated atop his massive throne atop the peak of a mountain ironically, and quite fittingly this time, named the Throne of Kil'Jaeden, questioned, observing the confrontation between Morgoron and Maiev from a magnifying sphere.

"Certain enough, my lord." Kazzak replied respectfully. "Her hatred and lust for vengeance are unparalleled. They are all that she is now. I've been observing her for a while as she wandered across Outland. She has slain enough demons to fully man at least three of our Forge Camps, and she doesn't even seem to register it. She is the perfect weapon to use against Illidan."

_Except ourselves_. Kil'Jaeden heard the unspoken comment. Indeed, why enlist the aid of a forlorn elf, when the Eredar warlock or presumably his direct lieutenant would be enough to destroy Illidan personally with no effort at all?

Kil'Jaeden was no fool. Illidan was intelligent. He must have been doing something all this time he spent in his so-called Black Citadel. Searching for a way to combat the Legion's power, if Kil'Jaeden was correct – which he usually was. He didn't know what the odds were that that wretched man had actually discovered something useful, but he didn't want to risk them. Archimonde's carelessness had gotten him killed. Kil'Jaeden would waste no effort to ensure that he wasn't caught off-guard by some mortal innovation like that.

"Keep watch on her." He instructed, putting the hound they had sent after the wolf out of his mind to focus on more important matters. He sincerely doubted her ability to dispose of Illidan, but at least she might help them uncover some of his secrets. Kazzak would see to it. Until then, there were other, far more important tasks for the Deceiver to undertake.

---

After the arrow was shot, Sylvanas wasted no time in turning back. "The Meat Wagons! Quick!" She ordered loudly, and her underlings related her orders until they would reach the hilltops where they were stationed.

"Not so fast, Sylvanas." Kael's voice shouted angrily in response. "Hawkstriders, move!!" He bellowed, and suddenly, the sky atop the place where the catapults armed with the prized New Plague were filled with Blood Elven dragonhawk riders. By themselves, they would not have been nearly enough to stop the barrage that was about to be unleashed, but Sylvanas was all too familiar with their ability to use arcane magic and weather modulation to create a dense fog, rendering the troops she had stationed there as well as her artillery virtually useless. True enough, an azure mist covered the entire hill, and while the Forsaken soldiers would be struggling to find their bearings, the dragonhawks' sharp eyes would be enough to guide their riders' deadly spears against their targets. Her secret weapon was effectively disabled. Biting a curse, Sylvanas turned around, only to see that her arrow had been avoided or deflected, and the attacked Dreadlord was now coming at her, a shadowy shape in the near-darkness. Armed with her former elven agility, Sylvanas flung herself backwards, narrowly avoiding the demon's claws. Before she knew it, pandaemonium broke out around her, the undead rushing to defend their queen against the Dreadlords and Kael's blood elves, and arcane as well as fel magic clashed in a brilliant explosion of light.

"Slay them all!" She commanded, letting loose another arrow, which this time found its target in the heart of a blood elf footman. With satisfaction, she saw her victim's insides explode and reform into a ghoul, which impaled from behind the soldier who had thought to avenge his companion's death.

She was not going to become anyone's slave, ever again.

---

From atop a hill overlooking Shattrath City, Lady Vashj was able to observe the progress of the siege. Legions of Illidan's new fel orcs, accompanied by her naga soldiers, were leading the assault on the main gate – siege towers, rams and catapults were assaulting the walls, trying to open a breach. But the draenei held fast, and their attacks were unsuccessful so far. On other fronts, legions of demonic soldiers, from the expendable Felhounds and lesser minions to the gigantic Infernals and Fel Reavers, everything that Illidan could have reproduced according to the knowledge he had assembled during his time in Outland had been thrown against the sacred city of the naaru. And the sea witch was not at all surprised to see it was a perfectly justified expense. Though the walls were heavily undermanned, a protective white dome as if made out of crystal shielded the city, repelling all attacks from above.

"Is this the naaru's magic?" She asked, although she knew the answer already.

"Yes." Illidan replied. His eyes were focused on the battlefield, and he seemed awfully intent on his observations. "This is A'dal's power. It is so strong I can feel it pulsing in the air, reacting to the power within me. I cannot do anything, not yet."

Vashj could feel it too, the energy stemming from the naaru, directed into the energy barrier that protected the city. The only time she had ever felt something comparable to this was during the Breaking. If Illidan tamed this power, he would be undefeatable. But how did he plan to conquer it?

---

On the frozen wastes of Northrend, the battle for the world's survival continued. The arctic frost was discomforting at best. With the wicked sorcery of the Lich at play, it was unbearable. And that was just the side-effects of it.

Jaina hastily put up another arcane barrier, bubbling herself and anyone nearby from Kel Thuzad's ice blast. The spell erupted as it collided with her shield, exploding in myriads of shards that rained down on the battlefield. Jaina and those within her protective dome were safe, but troops farther away screamed in agony as the finger-thick crystallite pieces stabbed them to death. However, that was the limit Jaina could extend her bubble without having to spend considerably more energy to solidify it properly to counter the opposing magic, and she could take no chances.

With a broad, fluid motion of her hand, three spots of arcane energy materialized around her, transforming into small spheres of water that expanded into three full-fledged Water Elementals under her command. Without wasting time, she mentally ordered them to keep the advancing undead at bay and shield her from Kel'Thuzad's next incoming attack, another ice blast that struck the forefront elemental for seemingly little effect. In the meantime, Jaina unleashed an array of firebolts from the tip of her staff, which exploded into a brilliant shower of arcane fire once they closed in on their intended target. However, much to Jaina's frustration, the Lich emerged relatively unharmed, a barrier of hail surrounding its deceivingly fragile body.

Jaina was slowly growing desperate. She was slowly running short on mana, while Kel'Thuzad was unfazed. Her troops withered and died around her, while the undead advanced in seemingly endless ranks. And she wasn't the only one to be pushed back. Everywhere she looked, the Crusade's forces were on the losing side.

If there were such things as miracles, Jaina prayed for one to happen, or they would soon be extinguished, and the world would die along with them.

-----------------------------------------

Author's Notes: As you may have noticed, the battle in Kalimdor is absent from this chapter, and the one in Northrend is only briefly touched upon. In the beginning, this is inevitable, since there are many fronts to write on and I am trying to keep chapter length (and by extension, update rate) within reason. Later on, when multiple plot threads will begin to converge, each chapter's content will be more consistent. Also, as you also probably noticed, the change of pace is very fast in this chapter – a brief overview of a situation, then moving on to the next, then jumping back. I need some input on this – good? Bad? According to what the reviewers prefer, I will either stick to it or adopt a more conventional pace, with longer and fewer scenes per chapter. Of course, it depends on the content as well.

I'd also like to thank everyone who's reviewed this far. Input is greatly appreciated and a very important element in designing the plot – all comments and suggestions are welcome. Instead of replying to your reviews, I will address them at the end of each chapter individually (well, provided there is something to mention). Here goes:

- Escalus: Thanks. The plot _will_ pick up, but right now it's the process of setting up the scene and doing all the necessary background connections, so a slower pace is necessary. I'm afraid you'll have to cope for at least a couple more chapters, until the setting is reasonably underway and I can move on to the core of the plot.

- eiko: Hordie, aren't we? Heh, I'll try to update as often as I can, but don't expect new chapters every other day. I don't have _that_ much time, and it actually takes a lot of research to refresh my warcraft knowledge before writing a chapter.

- Kuroy: Well, it is relatively hard, but on the other hand it goes smoother than if you have to describe one single scene per chapter. It feels more fast-paced this way, and enables you to pick up on some sub-plot when you feel you've reached a reasonable point in one of the plotlines and yet don't want to leave the chapter at that. Specifically for battle scenes, yeah, it's pretty hard, as those things are better watched in movies and stuff than read, but I always enjoy it.

- xxDeusExMachinaxx: Thanks, I greatly appreciate it. I hope you stick with it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV: The Lady's Necklace **

Rhonin shook his head. He was one of the very few to be able to claim that he had truly seen the distant past, an era beyond his own, yet even then, even having witnessed the destructive battle between the Kaldorei and the Burning Legion ten thousand years ago, that was nothing before the terrible war waged before his eyes. Through the scrying crystal he could see the vast armies of the Argent Crusade clashing against the limitless numbers of the Scourge. Not that he needed the crystal – the pulse of magic could clearly be felt across Icecrown and Crystalsong Forest all the way up to the very core of Dalaran. But, he could also tell another thing. For all their commendable valor and immense strength, the Crusade was losing. They would all be buried in the frosted wastelands soon enough without the Kirin Tor's intervention. Luckily for them, the preparations were finally almost finished.

"Rhonin." A familiar voice sounded from the doorway to the chamber. The Archmage turned his face back to look upon his beloved wife.

"Haven't we stayed here long enough?" Vareesa Windrunner, Ranger General of the Silver Covenant, asked. As always, she cut straight to the chase, without wasting time. This time, she was clearly irritated. Why, when the fate of the world hung on the outcome of a single battle just a couple of hours ride from there, was she, rightful leader of the Covenant's military forces, locked within this compound? Why wasn't she on the front lines, helping her allies destroy their common enemies? Those questions, Rhonin had already read in Vareesa's eyes the first time he asked her to stay in the citadel.

The sorcerer sighed. He'd much rather have Vareesa stay here. As much as he hated to admit it, he had grown up into a much less reckless, much more responsible man. Especially when it came to Vareesa. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her safety – and taking her with him to a battle against the Lich King's army certainly was on the very top of the list of potentially fatal actions. But, keeping her here was a sheer impossibility. Too much pride, too much love, too much hatred dragged Vareesa to this war as surely as an arrow released from the bow would follow its due course. Frankly, Rhonin admired her discipline and faith in him. He had expected her to have taken the Rangers and have been long on her way.

"There is still time." Rhonin said soothingly, but bluntly. "The Crusade is holding its ground. Both the Alliance and the Horde have combined their forces to defeat the Scourge."

"Is… _she_… with them?" Vareesa asked, only stumbling a little at the pronoun. Vareesa's heart might be strong, but it had broken twice already, and very rarely did a smile crawl onto her face these days. Rhonin sighed. He'd give every last shred of his power to make her happy again. But he knew that no matter what immense magical potential he held, he could not mend a shattered heart. Vareesa needed time, and peace, in order to recover. Unfortunately, she had neither.

"No." He replied. _I didn't expect her to be_. He neglected adding. The Dark Lady would not put herself in the front line, like Sylvanas Windrunner once would. The previous, failed assault on Angrathar was entirely too suspicious for his tastes. A coup it might have been, but if Sylvanas didn't have a hand in the creation of this New Plague, then Rhonin was a Troll. But there was no reason to tell Vareesa that aside from an undead megalomaniac, her sister had turned into an evil homicidal traitor as well.

"I see." The subject was over, just like that. "What I cannot see is why we are staying here. I know you are preparing something, Rhonin, something not even I was made privy of, something that only you and the inner circle of the Kirin Tor is supposed to know." Rhonin's eyes widened involuntarily. He knew he couldn't keep secrets from Vareesa, but… his wife's raised hand forestalled any excuses he was able to conjure at a moment's notice. "You kept your mouth shut for fear of the Lich King's spies, which is commendable – although I will remind you, once this is over, that you should know better than not to confide in me. Now, this something is probably a weapon of sorts that can help you deal with the undead. That much, I see. But why are _we_ here? Why is the Silver Covenant staying behind, when we could be in Icecrown, holding off the undead for you to get ready?"

"We might need protection." Rhonin's protest sounded as foolish to him as it must have sounded to Vareesa. The strength of the Silver Covenant was formidable, but even in its entirety there were few things, if any, against which it would have stood a better chance than the full council of the Kirin Tor, even after its fall and reformation. Some of the strongest sorcerers in the world resided in Dalaran and were ready to ride out right at this moment, and Rhonin was amongst them. "The weapon we are preparing is too important to jeopardize." He amended quickly. "If, despite my best efforts, the Lich King has gained insight into our plans, we will be at our most vulnerable upon our march to Icecrown. We will definitely have need of you, then. That's why Dalaran's military forces were kept at bay."

Vareesa opened her mouth again, but luckily for Rhonin, she was interrupted by the door she had shut behind her opening again. Archmage Modera and Archmage Aethas walked in – Rhonin did not miss Vareesa's venomous glare at the latter. With a deep bow, the two fellow members of the Kirin Tor's leadership and the Council of Six addressed him.

"My lord." Aethas said. "We are ready."

---

Cursing inwardly, Sylvanas ducked again to avoid a volley of arcane and conventional projectiles coming her way. The battle between the Forsaken and the Felblood Elves had degenerated into a bloody melee – it was all or nothing in this chaotic fight. Sylvanas' motion had brought her in range of a Dragonhawk's fog – the Forsaken had been pushed all the way up to the hillfoot – and thus, she did not see the charging blood elf swordsman until it was almost too late. Leaping out of the way of his blade, Sylvanas discarded her bow which had been used for the past half hour to spray death from afar amongst her formercomrades' ranks, and retrieved a long dagger imbued with the deadliest venoms from her waist. Quickly she plunged it into the attacker's neck, who instantly grew limp and fell lifelessly on the ground.

Hardly had the Dark Queen time to recover from this attack than another was felt, this one of arcane composition. Sylvanas raised her hands and created a void centered around her, blocking magic from being activated within. The magic silence partially dispersed the conjured mist, enough to let Sylvanas discern the face of her opponent, a tall Blood Elf warlock, wide-eyed at his spell being suddenly neutralized. Soon, his expression changed from shock to horror to agony as the Dark Ranger's thrown dagger found its intended target in her victim's chest. Before he could die, Sylvanas raised her left arm and, as her silence dissolved, forcefully drew whatever life force was left in the sorcerer, refreshing her own energy.

"You can't run from me, Sylvanas." Kael's cold voice reached her ears – instinctively, she jumped out of the way a mere second before entropic flame scorched the ground. In the light of the flames she caught a glimpse of Kael's form, his eyes twin glowing embers as he was surrounded by what she had come to recognize as fel energy. Just how far had he descended into madness? How deep had his lust for magic dragged him? Sylvanas hardly cared, but she knew something of the need for more power, for magic that the Sunwell couldn't even begin to provide. Had dealings with demons been Kael's only option? Well, it didn't matter now.

"This is taking too long." The unmistakeable, deep tone of one of the Nathrezim followed up on Kael's taunt. "We have other places to be." Grinding her teeth, Sylvanas cursed again as a short chant followed in a language that she presumed was daemonic. Even in the haze, once she looked up, she could clearly see the sky be lit ablaze as meteors descended from the fiery heavens, to rise into the forms of three hulking burning giants – the behemoths known as Infernals.

There was no other option left. They had to retreat. With what remained here, and the rest of the army that was left in Undercity, she might be able to mount a defense formidable enough to halt Kael's army. They would have to leave over half her numbers behind – if as many weren't dead already – and most of the Meat Wagons. But at least they'd survive. At least –

Her thoughts were interrupted by another voice, booming over the sounds of battle and the noises the roaring infernals made. She recognized it, though she hadn't heard it in many, many years and hadn't expected to hear it any time soon.

"Put your arms down, wayward brothers and sisters. By order of Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas since Prince Kael'thas' betrayal, it is time you answered for your crimes."

Moving, so that her eyes could clearly see the newcomers – there was a large force of Blood Elves, more than enough to match Kael's numbers, and at the head of it stood the man she remembered from her days as Ranger, at first her superior and then her lieutenant. Lor'themar Theron, distinguished for his services to the Blood Elves and appointed their leader by Kael'thas himself. One of the last men on Azeroth she would have expected to come to her rescue.

Lor'themar caught sight of her as well, and with the trained perception of a Ranger, she caught a small change in his face, banished as soon as it had come. Was it pity? Pain? Or was it disdain? How would Sylvanas look now to one who had seen her, had fought with her, had been with her during her earlier days? Sylvanas vanquished such thoughts. Emotions had no room in the empty heart of a Forsaken.

"Why are you interfering, Lor'themar?" Kael rounded on him, mad rage in his voice suppressed beneath his usual demeanor. "Have you forgotten what the undead have done to our homeland? To us?" The fel fire orbs burned brighter around the Blood Mage, and he indicated Lor'themar's missing eye with his finger.

"They are not the Scourge, Kael. And at any rate, allying with the undead are better than condemning yourself by allying with the Burning Legion!" Lor'themar, in turn, pointed at the three Dreadlords, who stood calmly behind Kael'thas with their Infernal minions, watching the exchange between the two sin'dorei.

"Allow me to disagree." Kael said mockingly. He raised his arms, and all around him, fel fire erupted in a blazing display of power. "Can't you feel it, Lor'themar? Can't you feel it, Blood Elves? This is what arcane magic can evolve to. This is TRUE power!!"

"Your words of cowardice hold no sway over the Highborne any more, traitor prince." Lor'themar responded, alleviating the last of Sylvanas' fears. "You will not listen to reason, but I do hope that at least some of your misguided followers will heed our call. You can still be saved from yourselves, from the demons, if only you make the correct choice now." Even without running the risk of being burnt alive by their leader on the spot upon the slightest hint of movement, Sylvanas doubted any of the Felblood elves would have turned coat now. Arcane magic was addictive – very addictive. Fel magic must be a thousand times so. Several wavered, made as if to move – but all stayed their places. Kael's influence was too strong.

"It is a sad day that quel'dorei shall raise their weapons against their brothers." Lor'themar said heavily, momentarily closing his eyes. "But for the sake of us all, your reign of treason must end."

Oh, yes. It would all end here. Lor'themar had handed her a perfect way to rid herself of most of her troubles in one shot. She should thank him for it.

After she turned him into one of her minions, that is.

---

Panting heavily, Khadgar sagged against the walls of the Terrace of Light. For the past hour, he and Velen had taken turns maintaining the shield above the citadel to defend Shattrath against the demonic legions. A'dal's power was formidable, but there was only so many ways the naaru could use it by himself. To design such a complex pattern had taken all of Khadgar's formidable magical genius. To maintain it needed constant attention, and Khadgar and Velen were the only ones skilled enough to guide the spell along Shattrath's laylines into an effective form. Well, Ishanah or Voren'thal could have done it as well, most likely. But there was no room for error here, and they had both opted to go to the walls and aid the defense of the city against the invaders' more conventional siege methods first-hand.

The sad truth was, Khadgar was getting too old for this. He and Velen had agreed to hold the barrier each for fifteen minutes, and then resting while the other took up. But while Velen appeared largely unperturbed by the effort, Khadgar himself was exhausted from handling the immense energy of the naaru, and willing it into his spell. When he had asked Velen on advice, the draenei had only muttered something abstract about the need to surrender your will to the naaru's power and let it guide you, instead of trying to guide it yourself. Immensely wise for a human Archmage he might be, but when it came down to the true miracle that were the naaru, he was almost as clueless as a newborn infant. Almost.

The already hard task of maintaining the barrier would have been made nigh-impossible with constant interruptions, so Khadgar had requested that noone bothered them until it was a matter of life and death. Thus, he was annoyed but quite a bit concerned when the door knocked, and, without waiting for an answer, opened to admit Adyen, the Lightwarden.

"My deepest apologies for bothering you, but this is important." She said in hasty, hushed tones after a quick, formal bow. Khadgar said nothing, only waited for her to go on. "We found a stranger in the streets. She was unconscious, and almost on the verge of dying. We didn't know what to do with her, so we brought her here."

Someone popping up in the streets of a besieged city was no small matter, especially in such a condition. "Then I will come with you to meet her." He said immediately, and, picking up his staff, followed Adyen out of the chamber.

Clearly, the female that was lying on the bed had been in as bad a situation, if not worse, than Adyen had described. She had been treated to the essentials, of course, but she still looked weak, and Khadgar only sensed a whisper of energy from her. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was too fast for her to be sleeping. Her fists were clenched, and sweat was running down her forehead – her mouth was half-opened and her lips constantly moved, as if trying to speak a single word. Far more intriguing than any of the previous observations, Khadgar found the fact that she was one of the Night Elves, the mysterious ancient race that had first faced the Legion once it invaded Azeroth.

"Can you hear me, Night Elf?" He said quietly, in a cool voice. The woman half-opened her eyes, which were bloodstained and haunted, to gaze at him. She nodded slightly.

"Do you know where you are?" He inquired. The Night Elf pushed herself up on her elbows.

"Shattrath City." She said. Her voice was weak, barely audible, but Khadgar instantly discerned the power behind it. It was a voice used to order, and to expect said orders to be followed.

"Correct. What are you doing here?" He continued with his interrogation. The woman's eyes, bloodshot and haunted, transfixed into his own, and for the first time in ages, Khadgar found himself willing to step back. There was something about those eyes, an overwhelming darkness held within. What had she been through, to turn like this?

"I will kill Illidan." She said simply. Khadgar heard Adyen gasp. It took all of his composure to hold back a shocked reflex as well. Kill Illidan, indeed. A highly unlikely goal to achieve in her state, but that aside, they were still words to make Khadgar wonder.

"Why do you want to kill Illidan?" He asked, finding it difficult to suppress emotion in his voice. He recognized that look now. It was the look of despair. Of solitude.

"Revenge. He took away everything I had." The heavy words were spoken in a monotonous voice, as if they were of no importance any more. The elf even shrugged her shoulders as she spoke. Did she even believe her own reasoning?

"What is your name?"

"Maiev Shadowsong." Came the simple response.

"Well, Maiev." Khadgar approached the barely conscious elf. "I will take you to someone you might be interested in meeting. Can you stand?" He asked, while sending a stream of refreshing energy to her body. Maiev didn't react, she simply rose from the bed and followed Khadgar back into the Terrace, all the while her head held low in a forlorn expression.

"Here we are." He announced, and they walked into A'dal's presence.

Instantly, the Night Elf fell to her knees, screaming and holding her face with her hands. Khadgar, who hadn't expected quite that kind of response, jumped back in surprise. Velen barely opened his eyes, took in the scene, and closed them again, forcing Khadgar to admit with grudging respect that when it came to mental focus the draenei prophet was by far his superior.

"E – Elune…" He heard Maiev whisper. "It is you… I've finally found you…"

Then A'dal turned, and Khadgar suffered his second shock. The naaru's face held an expression of compassion and warmth that made the mage shudder. Suddenly he could very well understand the tears in Maiev's eyes.

"No, Maiev." A'dal whispered. "The Light you see was always within you. Elune is you, just as she is me, like she was at the dawn of the world. Elune, the Light, forgives, Maiev. Bathe yourself in your faith, Maiev. You have never been lost – only misguided."

One of Maiev's hand's reached for her face, and removed the iron-wrought mask she wore. Underneath, a beautiful face was revealed, a pair of silver eyes shedding tears of joy.

"Thank you." She whispered finally, before falling unconscious.

---

A scream of pained agony, of unbearable suffering, escaped the Elf's lips. She would not give in. Yet even as she thought so, another lash of darkness struck, another eternity of suffering added to the already innumerable millennia she had been forced through. How many ages, how many eternities had passed after she had fallen into the demon's grasp? She couldn't tell. Everyone was long dead by now. Only her, a lingering shattered soul, persisted. Or was it just an illusion? Had she already died, and was it only her soul that was kept intact, put through an eternal torment for the demon's twisted pleasure?

"Everyone has fallen, elf." The demon whispered. "Everyone is gone. You are alone now. You are already a slave to my will. Slaves must be faithful, and loyal. You are my slave, but you are not loyal to me. Say it. Submit, and the pain will go away." Once more, the temptation, the accursed temptation of freedom – but it was no more than an illusion, she knew. Every time, she had discarded it, and every time the pain had continued. Did it matter any more? Was there any difference between life and death, a second and an eternity, pride and submission? She didn't know.

"I submit." She whispered finally it was done.

"Good." She heard the demon laugh, and the evil laughter was mirrored by a thousand voices – as her shackles were released and her senses returned, she realized with horror that she was very much alive. Alive, and her will, her pride, shattered.

She had been broken. The Light help her, Alleria Windrunner, Ranger-Captain of Quel'Thalas, had been broken.

-----------------------------------------

Author's Notes: Well, the majority of characters in this chapter have had only minor roles during the Warcraft III / Frozen Throne campaigns, and though some appear in WoW as lore characters, it is understandable that you may be unfamiliar with them – they played prominent roles in the earlier Warcraft games, as well as the novels / manga / comics. It would be impractical to elaborate upon everyone and everything here, so you can refer to wowwiki's extensive articles for any necessary information. But, a few words for the lazy; say that Khadgar and Rhonin were powerful wizards of the Kirin Tor that played critical roles during the Second War against the Horde – Khadgar was Medivh's apprentice and the one who defeated him, while Rhonin had traveled to the past to the time of the Legion's first invasion. Vareesa and Alleria Windrunner are Sylvanas' younger and older sister respectively, both Rangers of Quel'Thalas – Alleria led a raid in Outland and jumped into the Twisting Nether with the rest of her allies after Khadgar closed the Dark Portal, and Vareesa was Rhonin's beloved and later his wife, and now leads the Alliance forces in Dalaran. This is by no means complete information, so if you aren't familiar with these characters already, I'd highly advise you to read the relevant articles.

On an unrelated note, if you're wondering about the chapter's title, it stems from the homonymous quest in World of Warcraft, which is completed once you deliver Alleria's necklace to Sylvanas and triggers the event Lament of the Highborne. I strongly advise you to look it up if you aren't familiar with it.

I do hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far, I've tried to give it as much of a Warcraft-esque feel from the original stories as well as the novels as I could while still maintaining WoW's epic scope. As always, reviews and criticism are welcome.

- Escalus: I'm glad you think so. Hopefully there is enough going on to keep you interested until then.

- eiko: Well, you'll find out in due time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V: To Vanquish the Sun**

_During the eternity I spent imprisoned under the ground, I didn't dream. Just as my eyes could not see, I believed some sort of demonic curse blocked my mind from wandering, depriving me of even the privilege of reminiscing upon the past during sleep. No, I didn't dream. But sometimes, I heard voices. Them. The demons I had surrendered myself to. Mocking me. Toying with me. Destroying me._

_But sometimes, I heard _her_ voice. Ah, how I cherished those times. Though she had betrayed me, she was still a memory of my past, something to reminisce upon with whatever little amount of happiness I could muster in my cold prison. Azshara. The Daughter of the Moon, the Vision of Perfection, the Queen of the Quel'dorei. _

_She spoke of many things to me. At first, she only touched my mind, letting me feel her presence. Then, she started sending visions to me, of the world outside, of the beauty of the trees of Zin-Azshari before the cataclysm, of the hope and light I had lost forever. As I grew more and more familiar with her presence, she talked to me about and showed me other things. The fate of the Quel'dorei and the new watery civilization they had established. The glory of their capital of Nazjatar beneath the raging maelstrom. The power of the Naga._

_But soon, I began to feel something else during those times. Another, darker presence I was unfamiliar with. Not the fel energy I had associated with the Burning Legion. I did not think even Azshara herself was aware of the dark power underlying in our 'conversations'. Frightened, I tried to withdraw, to seal my mind from her. She worked against my efforts, invading my sleep with a ferocity I had not felt before. The presence grew stronger, and I was forced to lie awake for days and weeks and months at a time, trying to shield myself from her whisper. Eventually, though, I would give in, and like a thirsty animal she would jump into my head, drinking in the pain and terror she inflicted upon me._

_During those times, she had less control over what she showed me than otherwise. I caught a glimpse of many things, some of them not even from Azshara's own mind – where they came from, I didn't even dare to imagine. Dead Gods, banished beneath the surface of Azeroth, broken and imprisoned, but still alive, still lurking. Like me. Images of the world from an era far before the rise of the kaldorei, when Azeroth was still new and untouched, a planet in the making. Primordial entities that forged this planet, the mighty Titans, and the war they waged against its native inhabitants, the Old Gods. I saw many things, and with an eternity at my disposal, I was able to think through every one of them. Mostly, those visions threw me to despair and darkness. Mostly, I forgot those things, banished them away from my mind, their memory haunting my soul as my sanity was broken little by little by that ever-looming darkness._

_But once I came to Outland, the whispers ceased. My mind was finally free from Azshara's dark consort, and I remembered. Slowly, painfully, but surely, I extracted all the vital information I had absorbed during my imprisonment._

_Armed with that knowledge, I prepared to face the Legion._

---

Tyrande grimaced as she left behind another small trail of blood. Another attack she had not been able to avoid completely. She was getting tired.

The fierce Val'kyr had dispersed the crowd in the area around the High Priestess, isolating her from reinforcements – but reinforcements would have been little more than casualties in the end, so Tyrande was thankful for that, at least. However, the Val'kyr were fast, and though she had managed to shoot two down, the remaining three, including their leader who called herself Olrun, had surrounded her, flying above her head like a trio of harpies and moving in to attack. Tyrande had relinquished her bow in favor of twin long daggers to fight in close-proximity combat, but she was approaching her limit. She had already received a number of wounds which, while minor, added up. Ash'alah was tiring as well, his movements nowhere near as fast as before. Her enemies sensed that, and attacked with greater ferocity.

"You can't dance away from us all the time, Priestess!" One of the Val'kyr called out. Tyrande blocked a strike with both her daggers, only to have her shoulder slashed from behind. Tyrande considered her options. She could still call upon the power of Elune, but she had been fighting all-out for a while, and in that state, it'd definitely leave her defenseless and exhausted – and there was no guarantee she would even finish the Val'kyr off. Furthermore, as long as she stood, so did the Night Elves. If she fell, if she thought she was dead – if she did die, they'd break. She couldn't afford to have that happen. She –

A commotion and noise right behind her, amongst the front line of battle, distracted her, a possibly fatal situation had it not had the same effect upon her adversaries. Rapidly, she turned her Saber around, looking for what was causing the sudden noise. Her heart leapt with relief.

"For Elune, sisters!" The voice of Shandris Feathermoon roared above the chaos of battle. "Stand fast!" The Feathermoon Stronghold in Feralas had been attacked by a large group of Naga, so the besieged Sentinels there had been unable to join the war effort in Northrend. If Shandris was here, that meant they had made it in time – and not a minute earlier.

Olrun scowled at the new arrivals who had flanked and disrupted the ranks of the Scourge. "Go." She ordered her two subordinates. "I'll handle the Priestess." With that, the pair of Val'kyr turned around and began flying towards the Night Elf reinforcements. But Tyrande was ready.

"I don't think so!" She yelled, and while a surprised Olrun was still turning her head around, she kicked Ash'alah's flanks into one last leap in the middle of the undead angels. With Shandris here, the second-in-command of the Sentinels, it didn't matter if she ran out of energy – the younger archer could lead their army to victory in her place. But those Val'kyr had almost killed her – they would pose a serious threat to that victory. Now that she didn't have to hold back any more, however…

With a prayer to Elune, she called forth the power of the stars. The azure sky turned black overhead – the dark of midnight. The clouds were violently dispersed as blazing trails of light plummeted from above. Three, five, six, ten, twenty. The Val'kyr had cleared the ground for the undead troops to close in around her. Too bad for them. The searing stardust struck flesh and bone, tearing the animated corpses apart. The Val'kyr screamed as they were struck, a high-pitched hiss of terror that was soon silenced once the winged creatures were burnt to dust on the spot.

With a smile, Tyrande's eyes began drifting shut. Her mount, exhausted from the prolonged battle, collapsed beneath her, and she slid to the side, falling on the cold, bloodied ice of Northrend, her consciousness sliding away. There was hope now.

---

Magni Bronzebeard gritted his teeth, wiping blood off the side of his face with his left hand. The duel with the Crypt Lord was not going well. After his initial assault, the King of the Dwarves had been brutally counterattacked until he could barely hold his own.

"It's not the time to be worrying about your wounds, Dwarven King." The Crypt Lord's thick voice reached Magni's ears just before he had a chance to jump aside, barely avoiding a series of thick thorns that sprang out of the ground, aimed at him.

Though the ground was littered with broken pieces of the giant spider's carapace, and green blood was oozing from some wounds on the behemoth's scalp, the dwarf warrior was in much worse shape. Aside from numerous injuries, his left arm had been broken when he tried to block one of the Nerubian King's giant claws with it, and he was now forced to resort to his right arm for both attack and defense. Needless to say, with an enemy like Anub'arak, it wasn't working very well.

"You move well." The Scourge general complimented him. Thanks to his small body, Magni had managed to dodge death once more. But for how much longer? Screaming, he charged with his twin-bladed battle axe held high, ready to deliver a deadly blow. Anub'arak simply crawled backwards on its multitude of legs, and the axe hit nothing but air. Immediately Magni felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. Too late did he realize that one of the spider's claws had pierced his upper arm right through. The axe fell uselessly to the ground. With both arms disabled, it was over. Magni fell on his knees, and prepared to die.

"REINFORCEMENTS BE COMIN'!! TAKE THIS, YER FREAKS!!"

Magni thought it was some sort of dream – or, most likely, a hallucination caused by his impending death. However, the noise of hundreds of small explosions breaking out all around him shook him back to consciousness. Anub'arak was barely visible now beneath a thick veil of smoke, and most of the Scourge as well was either lying in pieces or had retreated away from sight. Magni felt the desire to laugh, but his lungs could barely manage to breathe. They had come.

"Ya look in a pretty bad shape there, brother!" Magni heard Muradin's cheerful voice right behind him, while the strong, sturdy arm of his younger sibling clapped his shoulder, causing him to wince in pain. In spite of himself, he smiled.

"Cut him some slack, Muradin." Magni's other brother Brann, the youngest of the three, said in an exasperated manner. "It's not every day you fight with something that big." His upraised hammer pointed towards Anub'arak, who was glaring at them, anger clearly visible in his eyes. "Sorry for the delay, brother." He added, taking a step forwards, carefully surveying the field. "Took some time to round these guys up." Now he pointed upwards, and Magni turned his head towards the direction, ignoring the pain the motion caused. Gryphons and gnome-engineered flying machines were circling overhead, lower than the altitude the Dragonflights were occupying, but high enough to stay well out of the undead archer's volleys, bombarding the few remaining enemies with grenades and hammers flung from sturdy Dwarven arms. The reinforcements weren't only aerial – Mortar Teams were hanging back, tossing pieces of explosive mortar from afar and further harassing the undead ranks.

Sighing, Magni let himself be treated by the group of healers that immediately reached the spot. He had done his part – it was up to the others now.

---

Cairne growled, frustrated as he was pushed back once again by his ferocious enemy. This horseman was not a trifling challenge – his skill with his two-handed weapon was as great as any gladiator could hope for, and he matched Cairne in speed and strength blow-for-blow. A large gash along Cairne's arm was bleeding profusely. But the Tauren chieftain was not easy prey – the might of the Earth that he had summoned had shattered Salanar's breastplate and injured his dreadsteed, which was getting harder to keep under control.

"Your power is as formidable as it looks." The deathknight complimented him. "But now it ends." Instinctively, Cairne leapt backwards, only to be pulled by an invisible force towards his opponent. A stinging sensation let him know that the runeblade Salanar wielded was now deeply etched into his shoulder. A feeling of cold overwhelmed him, and increasing pain. Something dark seeped from the blade into his body – the curse of undeath. Was it over?

"What the - ?" Salanar yelled. Cairne opened his eyes. The pain was there, but lessened. The feeling of queasiness produced by the corruption was gone. A warmth replaced the arctic frost. In the horseman's eyes, he must have looked like he was surrounded by a bright blue light.

"Your magic cannot touch me, Deathknight." Cairne said. "The power of my ancestors watches over me." True enough, the spirits of the Earth had risen even in this forsaken land to protect those who honored them. "Your wicked sorcery will be your undoing." The light now seemed to flow into the rune-carved sword, which an astonished Salanar tried to withdraw, but was stopped by Cairne's grip on his wrist.

While his left hand held Salanar in place as best as it could manage, his right was raised overhead, the giant axe casting a shadow over the duel. "May the spirits be forgiving on your soul, Death Knight. Mother Earth's embrace will welcome the sinners along with the innocent."

"What are you – NO!!" Salanar screamed as the weapon descended upon him, the blade, supported by the Tauren's ferocious strength, cleaving right through the middle of his spiked helm and crushing his skull in half, then slicing a clean cut in the middle of his upper body.

Staggering backwards, Cairne let Salanar's corpse fall limp on the ice. With trembling hands he pulled the dark weapon off his shoulder. After he had confronted their leader, the undead had systematically been held at bay and pushed back by the Tauren warriors.

But Cairne looked to the west, to where Jaina's forces were fighting, and his heart clenched.

---

The humans were being overwhelmed. Not possessing the immense might of the Tauren, the sturdiness of the Dwarves or the agility of the Night Elves, and lacking the numbers of Stormwind's army, they were forced back step-by-step, pushed back despite Jaina's and her sorcerers' best efforts to keep the unholy Scourge at bay. Kel'Thuzad's presence made Jaina's efforts even harder.

"Running low on mana, my dear?" The hissing voice of the lich reached her ears. "I suffer under no such limitations." To her horror, Jaina watched Kel'Thuzad raise his arm towards one of his nearby minions. The necromancer, who was focused on casting bolts of dark energy at the human footmen, did not notice any change until he was fully surrounded by a black shroud. Then he screamed, a sound to make the bravest of hearts cower, as he was dissolved into raw energy, which seeped into Kel'Thuzad's arm. Immediately, another frost attack followed, and Jaina's barrier fell short of keeping it at bay – icicles stabbed into her limbs and stomach, throwing her flat on her back as she screamed in pain.

"It's over." Kel'Thuzad said, hovering slowly towards her. As he raised his arm for a spell to drain the soul right out of her body, though, a large shape impaled him from the side, sending him reeling in mid-air until he could catch his balance again. Both Kel'Thuzad and Jaina looked at the new arrival, the first angry, the second astonished. But it wasn't long before the warm sensation of healing overwhelmed the sorceress' senses, and she realized that the Tauren had come to her rescue – a shaman was healing her, and the massive shape that had stopped Kel'Thuzad and was now grappling with an abomination even bulkier than himself was Cairne Bloodhoof, the Horde's leader in Thrall's absence. He was wounded, Jaina noticed, and he seemed almost completely drained. The abomination tossed him backwards, and Kel'Thuzad's frost spell enveloped him.

"Cairne!" Jaina screamed, making as if to go towards him, but she was still too weak from her injuries. Soon, her worries were alleviated as the ice around the Tauren shattered, revealing an in an even worse shape Cairne, but still alive and ready to fight.

"Don't worry!" He bellowed back at her. "We'll handle things here. You must teleport to Kalimdor! Bring Wrynn and Thrall here! They are our last hope, and you're the only one who can make them see sense!" His axe bit into the undead behemoth's flesh. "Go!!"

Jaina bit back tears. Leave? She looked back. The humans had been retreating, but the Tauren were now supporting them, and they were fighting back. Cairne looked on the verge of collapse now, though, while Kel'Thuzad was still fresh as if he had just joined the fight. In addition, the Tauren ranks had thinned in order to provide this relief, and the undead were now advancing on both fronts. Jaina barely had enough mana left to teleport herself away – she would not be of any use here. But Cairne was right. If there was even one chance of any of them living, it lay with the combined might of Stormwind and Orgrimmar. If she could persuade them to come… Crying silently, Jaina raised her staff, abandoning her people for a faint hope.

---

Sweat run down Tirion Fordring's brow. The challenge the great Paladin had undertaken was overwhelming, even for one of his caliber. To fell the Lich King. He couldn't help but wonder each time he raised Ashbringer for one more strike, he couldn't help but despair each time the great blade was repelled by the unholy might of Frostmourne. But he wouldn't give up until his last breath had left his body.

"The Light will burn you, traitor!" He yelled, raising his sword high. The leader of the Scourge parried it effortlessly, then threw a gauntlet-covered fist at him, which he was able to dodge – barely.

"It is your foolish reliance on the Light that will destroy _you_, Fordring." The Lich King breathed into his ear as he once again pushed him into a swordlock. "The Holy Light holds no sway over these lands."

"We'll see about that!" Tirion screamed, and putting all his strength in the Ashbringer, he pushed Arthas backwards. Before the undead leader could react, the Paladin retreated, raising the sacred artifact overhead.

"For the Light!!" Tirion yelled, and as he called upon the divine power, the bright shining crystal imbued in the Ashbringer glowed fiercely, and expanded to envelop sword and wielder with its vast energy. The Lich King recoiled briefly, and in that instance, Tirion struck. "It's finished, Arthas."

Then, to Tirion's surprise, his adversary stopped moving – something in his hand glowed a deep black, and then he felt the Ashbringer's indomitable might slip away from his control…

"You were right, Fordring." Everything soon faded to black, and the Paladin's last thoughts were that of his devastating, inexplicable failure, as he sank into a dark ocean of despair.

"It is finished."

---

As he sensed Tirion draw the power of the Light into him, Mograine turned back, leaving the already brutally injured Prince Valanar on his knees. His eyes caught sight of the blaze around the Paladin, but what drew his attention was the Lich King, who had retrieved something from his armor – a black globe, small enough to be contained in his palm, that seemed to be pulsing with some kind of crimson spark. Too late did he recall the Lich King's enigmatic words that had once been spoken to him, too late did he realize the cryptic meaning –

"For every light, there is a shadow."

"Heh…" Valanar breathed behind him, a weak attempt at laughter. "You idiots… do you sense that, Mograine? The Lich King's power? It will undo you…" The Scourge knight broke into a cough.

"TIRION, NO!!" Mograine yelled, but it was too late. Everything was swallowed by darkness.

---

"It's done."

High in the arctic sky, Alextrasza turned sorrowful eyes on the battlefield below. She watched in sadness as the great Tirion Fordring, herald of the Argent Crusade, fell before his arch-nemesis. "I am sorry, Tirion. Your sacrifice will not be in vain." She whispered, her words caught by the wind, as a single tear left her majestic eyes.

"And now they are here." Itharius, the great Green Dragon, said calmly.

Alextrasza turned her head towards the west, where, far away in the horizon, the agents of the Infinite Dragonflight were rapidly flying towards them.

-----------------------------------------

Author's Notes: Alright, so you should be catching a bit onto things by now. All the major players, more or less, are in position, and the true battle begins. Now, for the reviews:

-Eiko: Sylvanas has more or less stated she wants to turn everything into her minion, including the Scourge and the living. She is especially bitter towards her former people, and moreso now that they meddled with her plans (Kael, not Lor'themar, but still). Helping her out in one fight isn't going to change her feelings.

-Escalus: Yes, they should be referred to as the sin'dorei. But Sylvanas still calls them the quel'dorei, or the High Elves. Why? Well, she was once one of them. They specifically changed their name to 'honor' those who had fallen to the Scourge. Sylvanas, being one of those fallen, and having now turned to an undead megalomaniac, probably doesn't want to remember those exact events very distinctly, thus she refuses to refer to her former people by that name. Besides, if I was a High Elf-turned-undead, and someone just came up and told me "Oh lol, sorry about what happened to you, by the way you know that thing you used to be? It's not called High Elf any longer, it's Blood Elf now. 'k, bye!", I'd probably go all Archimonde on him.

-TheDeadShadow: We're going back to Thrall and Wrynn next chapter, since we've left them alone for a while. But as for the Forsaken, I do not believe they are evil. They are what the name implies – lost souls who cling to anything that they believe can help them, in their case, Sylvanas. Even her, though, I don't view as inherently evil, just bitter and filled with the desire for revenge. And even the darkest of souls can be redeemed, as proven by Mograine and the Death Knights.

Also, I apologize for the delay in uploading this chapter. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I don't have much time in my hands these days, so things are going to continue at a slower pace over the next two weeks or so. I'll speed up later though.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: I'll be putting them in the beginning from now on, since it makes more sense like this. Behold:

-Eiko: Cairne? Well, his fate is definitely at risk, considering the turn of events on the battlefield, but if you were to doubt about someone dying or not, I'd expect it to be Tirion =/.

-TheDeadShadow: You misinterpreted my words. I do not believe the Forsaken are evil as a race. That said, there can be evil individuals within their ranks, such as Putress, as with pretty much any faction within and without Warcraft. But that doesn't – or more accurately shouldn't – brand them as evil by default. For now, they just do as directed.

-Escalus: Off Tyrande? As in, off my very favorite Warcraft character? Lolno. She's just a little tired. And we'll get to the Druids.

-Brendan: First of all, thanks for your extensive review – I hugely appreciate the effort you put into it. In return, let me put your concerns at rest:

1) Left out Aegwynn? As in, left out my second favorite Warcraft character? Nope. She just hasn't made an appearance, but her role is already set in stone for the story.

2) Hmm. Yes, you could say I nerfed her WotLK abilities. But then again, comparing her Warcraft III incarnation with her WoW one presents an equally huge gap. Now, I know WoW is supposed to be the new standard canon, but I sort of liked that even heroes in the Warcraft series weren't like, godly beings that you had to bring in 40 epic-geared dudes to off. In this story, I've more or less downgraded the power of "bosses" / heroes to WC3 levels. Also, Jaina was fighting for a while without rest, and had to face a constant assault by Kel'Thuzad, who is a very prominent mage.

3a) Thrall put a lot of effort into creating a new homeland for the Orcs, and not just the Orcs – many of Kalimdor's native species have found their hearth in Durotar. Thrall would be extremely hard-pressed to let it fall to the hands of the Alliance, an Alliance that is thirsty for revenge for the supposed betrayal at Angrathar and eager to put an end to the Horde completely. Thrall wouldn't, perhaps, hesitate, to leave it behind if it was a simple matter of reclaiming it after the battle with the Lich King was over, but total annihilation was probably what he believes the humans would go for. Having spared all the soldiers he could for the Crusade in Northrend, he must now turn to his duty to protect his people. That's how I view Thrall's mindset, and how I wrote him down.

3b) As for Wrynn, indeed, why would he specifically strike at the Horde the exact same day the Crusade marches for Northrend? Well, first of all, from a strategical viewpoint it's the perfect opportunity. Wrynn knows the armies of Theramore wouldn't join him if he marched against Orgrimmar, except for a few betrayers, so he's pretty much got all the troops he could marshal otherwise – but Thrall's forces are divided between defending Orgrimmar and assisting the Crusade in Northrend. But while tactically it stands, not even Wrynn would consider the Horde a bigger threat than the Scourge. Indeed, something is fishy here. Hmm…

4a) Kael went to stop Sylvanas under orders from Kil'Jaeden _exactly_ so that the combined Alliance / Horde forces could destroy the Lich King. While it is a known fact that Sylvanas hates the Scourge probably more than the living, let's just say Kil'Jaeden has more 'faith' in the forces that managed to tackle Archimonde and the Legion atop Mount Hyjal as being capable of defeating the Lich King than a bunch of undead deserters who tend to create a mess everywhere they go. As for Illidan, he is not acting under orders of the Burning Legion, which couldn't care less about laying siege to Shattrath. And really, how much of a plothole is Illidan and Kael being alive? Can you even count the times in the Warcraft universe we thought someone was dead and it turned out he was not? I specifically mentioned the general belief was that they were dead, and Illidan had faked his death to throw off the Legion. Aside from not believing Illidan is dead in the canon continuity (he'll pop up, you'll see), he deserves a far more epic death than that.

4b) You should've caught on to that from the last chapter's end. Illidan mentioned an artifact that can negate the naaru's power (which was what A'dal sensed and ordered the army to stay put, by the way). Arthas had something that disabled Ashbringer's power. The Ashbringer is believed to hold the soul of a naaru in crystal form. Putting two and two together… anyway, the entire thing will be revealed in time.

5) If Arthas used his forces to assault the rest of the world, Northrend would remain undefended. Sure, the Scourge numbers are vast, but not vast enough to match in strength and quality the forces of the entire Argent Crusade and the Wyrmrest Accord in Northrend and at the same time mount an assault against every Alliance and Horde capital and stronghold in the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor (which, while heavily undermanned now, are not entirely undefended). Arthas knows that if he spreads his forces too far, he'll be outmaneouvered, and while bringing the rest of the world to heel is important, if he can destroy the Crusade in Northrend that goal will be that much easier to achieve. So, he gathers the core of his forces in Northrend, and leaves the rest to cover the other fronts.

-lllll:

1) Read and find out.

2) Some of the Gnomes are fighting with the Dwarves on Northrend, but as a whole, their race and the machinations of their leader has not been touched upon yet.

3) Like the Gnomes, their current status hasn't been explored yet.

Same thing applies to the Goblins.

I'll just say this: to everyone who's asking "Why is X race / character left out?", your answer is, he / she / it probably isn't. He / she / it just hasn't come into focus then, and probably will soon enough. I'm going to try and envelop every aspect of the Warcraftverse into this story – sooner or later, everything will play their part. But because the universe is so large, not everything can be put in the first few chapters. We're just in the beginning, guys. Sit back and enjoy.

Well, while I answered what I could, most of your questions / notes have to do with the future of the story, which of course I cannot reveal right now. So all I can say is, read and find out.

-----------------------------------------

**Chapter VI: Betrayed and Dying**

"The Dragons! The Dragons have abandoned us!"

"Tirion has fallen! All is lost!"

"Retreat!!"

These cries and others, more desperate ones, heralded the Wyrmrest Accord's departure from the battlefield. Alextrasza sighed heavily, accepting the burden of her decision. She could only hope there were not too many casualties here today. She had promised the aid of the Dragonflights in the fight against the Lich King, but there were duties heavier than a word, even the Red Dragon Aspect's word.

"Are you certain about this, my Queen?" Afrasastrasz, one of the strongest Red Dragons at Alextrasza's side, asked. "Surely the entire Accord is not needed to purge the Infinite Dragonflight here – "

"No, Afrasastrasz." Alextrasza said softly. "Without knowing the full extent of their strength, we are taking a blind risk even bringing three Dragonflights against them, and nothing else than their total destruction can serve our purpose here. Nothing else can ensure the survival of existence in its current form. The young mortals will have to fare for themselves."

"Besides," Korialstrasz added in his deep, thoughtful voice, "they will not be completely alone. Allies are coming to their aid." Alextrasza knew that the mind of her consort flew to Rhonin, the Archmage, and his bold plan. She could only hope, for the sake of her promise, that he succeeded.

"Let's go." She ordered, and at once, the Red, Green and Bronze Dragonflights began their assault against their Infinite counterparts.

---

Malfurion gazed upon the majestic plains of luminescent green and rich gold, fields of flowers and grass that stretched endlessly in any direction. At least those had not been spoiled by the Nightmare yet, the might of the Green Dragonflight preserving the wondrous Eye of Ysera from the taint. But now most were gone, and only occasionally did Malfurion's half-closed eyes catch the grand shape of a dragon roaming over the golden dome.

But the great Druid hardly noticed all this, or paid any heed to the beauty of the Dream's Heart. His mind was occupied with other subjects. He had been able to sense the afterglow of events in Azeroth, and Ysera had been willing to share the details with him. A war was waged between the mortal races and the undead Scourge in Northrend. Tyrande and the Sentinels had joined in the Crusade, but the Druids of the Cenarion Circle had stubbornly stood aside. Malfurion would have long stepped out in Tyrande's aid – it was for the common benefit of the world to dethrone the Lich King, after all – but he was trapped here, forced to wait. The Green Dragons and Ysera could exit the Dream via the Eye – the Druids could not. The Nightmare had cut off their bonds to the outside – until the taint could be removed and the connection reforged, they were imprisoned within Ysera's realm.

Yet despite all that, Ysera was still locked within her Emerald chambers within the golden dome just ahead, and Malfurion was not about to seek an audience, not when there were so many things he was unsure of.

---

Cairne looked around, and saw only despair. Tirion had fallen, and the Wyrmrest Accord was abandoning the battlefield for reasons unknown, leaving the unholy Frost Wyrms and other destructive flying behemoths of the Scourge to bombard them from above. In the meantime, the undead ranks were advancing on them, and most of the front line was broken and in disarray. In the face of such a disaster, there was but one thing to do.

"Retreat!" Cairne bellowed, and launched himself into a hulking abomination, knocking him back with the Earth's might. Instantly sheer cold exploded around him, and millions of ice shards pierced his body from every direction. The Chieftain grunted, knowing that Kel'Thuzad had not taken his interference lightly. Regardless, he shrugged off pain and injury and stomped the ground with his axe, sending a dozen or so ghouls that had closed in on him somersaulting away. "Retreat!" He ordered again, joining the humans and Tauren as they rushed away in defeat.

---

Shandris Feathermoon had only just arrived to replace the exhausted Tyrande in leading the Kaldorei forces, when disaster struck the Crusade. Not only Arthas had bested their best hope of victory – of survival – but the Dragons were also leaving. For what reason Shandris could not guess, though she was sure they had not been betrayed – the Wyrmrest Accord held true to its word. Something very important, or very disastrous, had happened to draw them away from the battle. Shandris could only hope that they would deal with it – that, and that the other members of the Crusade would share her view. Breaking up this fragile alliance with the Aspects would doom their cause for sure.

But for now, she had more immediate problems. Though the Kaldorei were holding their ranks better than the humans, who had already broken, they were pushed back. Everywhere except in the very center, where the Death Knights and Paladins of the Crusade were still holding their ground, the Crusade was retreating. With Tyrande unconscious, Shandris did not believe she had neither the strength nor the standing to rally the Crusade in a counterattack. Truth be told, she doubted anyone but Tirion held that quality.

"Archers, hold the line!" She yelled over the deafening noise of battle, nocking an arrow to her own bow and empowering it with the power of the moon, sending it as a stream of light to impale one of the incoming undead, a former Troll armed with two axes which roared in pain as it was struck straight in the chest, before the explosive moonfire blasted its reanimated corpse apart. "Sentinels, retreat! Hold the rank! Make them pay for every step they gain!" The huntresses complied, slowly leading their Nightsabers backwards while covered by volleys of arrows from their supporting sisters, and hacking and slashing at the bloodlusted Scourge minions that leapt for their throats. Though the undead corpses that had been forcefully returned to a more permanent grave piled up, making it difficult for their still-undead allies to advance, many a brave Night Elf would never bathe in the waters of a Moonwell under the light of Elune again. It was a tragedy, and Shandris knew that no matter how many soldiers Arthas lost, sooner or later he would be able to replenish them from his destroyed enemies. Every one of their own lost felt like a stab in the heart for Shandris.

They would be avenged. If not here, if not today, the Scourge would be destroyed. Shandris swore under Elune, that she would not rest until the death of every last of her sisters had been paid back a thousandfold. Cringing, she followed the retreating forces.

---

"Kill the brutes! Slay them all!"

"Death to the Horde!!"

Valeera winced as she thought that at least _she_ was excluded from the latter battlecry. Was supposed to, at least. Humans did not easily forget that she was one of those who had allied with their Horde enemies. Broll, despite the fact that he stuck out as a bee in the milk in Stormwind, received much less murderous stares as her.

And that type of thinking in the middle of the battle was exactly the kind that could get you killed before you even knew what was happening. The Blood Elf sorceress whirled around, dodging an incoming spear with the dexterity of the trained gladiator that she had once been. Yeah, trying to lead the brunt of the offense from the left to blindside the Orcs had been such a good idea. Until they fell into this mass of weirdly-colored, ugly, stinking creatures. Trolls. Valeera hated them with a passion. She hated their spears that seemed to be aimed straight for her head even more.

"To me, brothers!" She heard Varian scream. Her former companion was swinging around two swords the size of orc hammers, cleaving into Troll flesh like a hot knife through butter. She only wished that the idiot would keep his voice down. The way he yelled, it was like a signpost for the Horde to point out their opponent's leader's position.

"Varian, watch out!" She yelled, shaken from her thoughts as she saw a spear heading straight for the king's chest. Whether he heard her warning or not, he sure had a Gnome's luck, as he twisted his body leftwards and avoided what would have been a fatal wound by having the weapon pierce right through his shoulder instead. Rushing to his position, Valeera cast fireballs as quickly as she could, raising a wall of flame between them and bloodthirstied Trolls ready to take off the head of their enemy's champion.

"Are you alright?" She asked, concerned, as she bent to treat the fallen king.

"I'll live." Varian grunted, pushing up to his elbows as Valeera broke the spear with her hand, causing another wince of pain from the injured champion, but at least freeing the wound for her to heal.

Valeera watched anxiously as Wrynn rose unsteadily. His right shoulder had been impaled, and though Valeera's healing skills were top-notch, even a warrior of Wrynn's caliber couldn't expect to be able to use his arm properly after such an injury.

"Varian." She said firmly, raising her hand to squelch the incoming protest. "Varian. You are injured. If you die, this whole thing is over. Go back, let your warriors know you are alive and well. You want Thrall – Thrall isn't here. I'll take care of things over here. You just help Broll out there." She pointed out where the Night Elf Druid was keeping the main Horde offensive at bay. He had shapeshifted into a gigantic bear, and even the powerful orcs were hesitating to engage him directly.

"Very well." Varian sighed finally, after struggling to find a reason to stay in the thick of battle. But even he should acknowledge that he'd be more of a burden than a real use right now, with them trying to keep him alive. "I'll leave it to you, then."

Sighing in relief, Valeera put Varian out of her mind – he could take care of himself, provided some rampant Troll didn't chop his head off his shoulders first. Speaking of rampant Trolls, she would have to –

Her words were cut short as what looked like a green, short spear was flung right beside her. Breathing heavily in the immense luck she had in the blow missing her by a few inches, she turned around. The projectile that had just passed her was buried in the chest of one of the human Knights, who stared at it with a mixture of horror and pain. Valeera moved quickly to see if she could still help the hapless warrior, when to her great surprise, the thing dissipated into a greenish cloud, and the victim screamed in unbearable pain as his poisoned skin was gradually consumed, living nothing but a withered remnant of a corpse in a matter of mere seconds.

Twisting to the front, Valeera's fire already left her hands, enveloping a ward about her own height only thirty yards away. Voodoo magic. That meant –

"What be you doin' with da pinkskins, zufli?" The question in half-common, half-zandali confused her – what had the Troll called her? – but Valeera quickly shook her head.

"No concern of yours, voodoo-man. I'll let this speak for me!" And with that, she cast a huge ball of fire, which struck her target straight in the chest, and exploded to envelop a large portion of the Troll frontlines. Panting, Valeera thought she might have to find a quiet place and drain a little mana from one of the more magically-apt Trolls. At any rate, now that she had just destroyed the –

The soothing sense of a massive healing cast nearby drew her attention back to the smoke that still covered the area struck by her spell. Once the aftermath of the explosion began to clear, she saw the Witch Doctor, still standing along with the majority of the struck Trolls, a little charred but otherwise fine, looking at her. She blinked. She had been sure that spell had packed a punch powerful enough to leave everything half-dead. To be able to calmly use such a large-scale healing in that situation…

"I changed my mind about you, Troll." She said. "Honor me with your name, before I turn you to dust." Even as she spoke, arcane fire blazed in her hands.

"I be Vol'jin, chief of da Darkspear tribe." The Troll replied.

---

Varian had to grind his teeth as he made his way to the back of his lines, trying to reach the place where Broll fought without putting himself in the middle of a skirmish. He had to reassure almost every soldier he bumped into, it seemed, that he was fine, that he was simply taking a break and so on. In truth, he was not fine. Valeera's healing, while potent, was not perfect, and performed hastily had only managed to superficially heal his wound. A nerve had been ripped, and until it was properly restored, Varian had difficulty even lifting his right arm, much less using a sword. And that wasn't the first wound he had received today, either. The toll of multiple hours of constant fighting and several hastily healed injuries on his stamina was enormous. He would have to rest for a while. But it pained him to sit down and wait while the accursed greenskins were still ahead. In the last few weeks, the desire to destroy the Horde had risen unnaturally, almost to the point of need. At first he had attributed it to Bolvar's death and the betrayal at the Wrath Gate, but now, now that hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers that could aid in the Scourge's destruction were turned into piles of corpses, he was not so sure any more. His mind was clouded, and when he dwelled too long on that subject, he only managed to confuse himself more.

The roar of lightning shook all other thoughts away from Varian's mind – he looked ahead, and saw Thrall, hated Thrall leading the Orcish charge, spreading death to Varian's troops with his vile shamanism. All reasoning fled from the king's mind as he grasped the hilts of his twin swords as well as he could, and with a mighty roar, launched himself against the Warchief.

"Thrall!!" He screamed. "It ends now!!" His nemesis saw him, and raised his hammer – the weapons clashed, and in that frenzied moment, while lightning began surging from the Far Seer's hammerhead, Wrynn's greatsword snuck its way towards his enemy's heart…

---

"Enough!"

Those words, spoken in a woman's voice, though audible enough to be heard over the ruckus of battle, would normally be far from sufficient to stop two throngs of warriors dead in their tracks, forcing them to turn around in unison to identify the source. But, even though Aegwynn had lost most of her magic, she still proudly maintained enough force of presence to exert an aura of absolute command. Well, a little voice-amplifying magic helped, too.

The two leaders stopped as well, each on the verge of killing the other, turning around astonished.

"You are - !" Thrall exclaimed in surprised.

"Magna Aegwynn!" Varian finished comically, both with such a dumbfounded look on their faces that Aegwynn wished their armies would stop gawking at her sudden appearance atop a cliff overlooking the battle, and take a look at their commanders.

"I've said so already, I'm not 'Magna' any more. That title was forsaken ages ago." Aegwynn said irritably. She sort of enjoyed the attention – unusual for her, but then again, everyone needs to have a few thousand Horde and Alliance soldiers staring at them with such puzzled expressions once in their lifetimes – but they had more important things to get to.

"But what are you doing here?" Thrall asked tentatively. So he was still nervous of her since their last encounter. Aegwynn worked hard to suppress a smirk.

"That is my line, you ugly lump." She growled. Thrall actually seemed on the verge of responding, but thought better of it. He also chose to ignore the widening eyes and hard-pressed-not-to-smirk mouths of his Kor'kron Elites. "What are _you_ doing here, when your people are dying on the snows of Northrend?"

"I – " Thrall started in protest, but Aegwynn's raised hand gave him pause.

"And you." She turned on Wrynn, who was watching the scene bewildered. "If you had half the sense of a goat in that brain of yours, you should have done what that girl told you. Your petty rivalries are nothing in the face of what will happen to the world, if the Lich King is left unchecked."

Though Varian looked, too, as if he wanted to say something, Aegwynn's hand snapped towards him, silencing him. "And speaking of that girl…" she continued, as a portal opened right beside her, and from the frozen wastes of Icecrown stepped Jaina poised to end the battle Aegwynn had just stopped.

---

"Well done, Fel Knight." Doom Lord Kazzak commended his newest recruit. "Your strength is formidable. Your power, overwhelming. No wonder you were such a renowned warrior amongst the Elves."

"Whatever." The woman said indifferently, wiping her blade off the corpse of one of the hundreds of lesser demons she had been challenged to slay as a test of her newfound abilities. Fel Knights was one of Kazzak's most recent ideas, and one he was rather proud of. Following the premise of the undead Death Knights, Fel Knights were chosen amongst the strongest of warriors and bound to eternal servitude to the Burning Legion by similar means. His first experiment was one straight delivered to him from the Twisting Nether, and one he was very surprised – and delighted – to see.

"Just tell me whom to kill, demon." Alleria Windrunner said, her bloodshot eyes, knowing no fear even after her fall, staring straight at the Ered'ruin doomguard's face.

Oh, very delighted indeed.

---

Rhonin and Vareesa rode at the head of the Kirin Tor's forces. Behind them, ranks of the most prominent of wizards from Dalaran surrounded a massive black obelisk carried atop a wagon moved slowly by two pairs of tundra mammoths, and were in turn surrounded by a protective ring of the Silver Covenant's finest warriors. A formidable force, but if Rhonin was right, and Vareesa vehemently hoped he would be, the magical artifact they were bringing to Icecrown was the most dangerous to the Scourge.

Suddenly, Rhonin reined in his horse. Vareesa stopped, too, and she would have asked what was wrong, but it was pointless. By that time, she could already feel the sense of wrongness in her mind, like an aberration in the natural balance. Having spent so much time in Northrend, she had learnt to recognize that feeling.

"Undead." She stated simply, drawing an arrow. "We've been ambushed." The whisper of long-dead corpses buried underneath the ice being forced to move by an outside force, the ground breaking open to hail the reanimated warriors as they emerged from death's embrace, thousands and thousands of them to block the path of Dalaran's army, confirmed her suspicions.

They had been betrayed.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Well, here it is. I sincerely hope that this installment fulfills everyone's expectations, as in this chapter, the plot of the story begins developing in earnest. There might be a small bit of an info-dump near the end, but I hope you can overlook that in favor of the greater picture.

On another note, I am very happy with the amount of feedback you guys are giving me. It keeps me writing more, and helps me improve upon some less well-thought aspects of the story. I hope you all stick with it till the end, because I certainly plan to bring it there. Now, onto individual review responses –

-eiko: Thanks, I'm glad you liked it.

-Escalus: Well, you should be getting your earlier wish fulfilled now that the plot is finally moving forth at an increased pace. Enjoy.

-Brendan: About Valeera and her class / abilities, see the small section below. As for the Kirin Tor, though they were ambushed, they are no pushovers. We'll see if they need help and if they do, where they'll get it from. And I see Sylvanas as having more or less manipulated Thrall and the Horde into helping her reclaim Undercity. But we'll get more on Sylvanas' character later. And do you mean Saurfang the Younger or the Elder?

-Seproth: I thank you for your kind words, and I definitely agree that the War of the Ancients all. About Valeera, see below. About Illidan… well, since I decided to keep him alive, it is only natural that he'll get a huge amount of spotlight in this story. Just wait and see. Lore characters – yes. I'm only using Lore characters, and strictly sticking to their personalities as far as I possibly can. Even if I do have, at some point, to personally introduce Random Human Scout #389; why, there are so many NPCs already in the game I'd just have to pick one. Also, I think it should be obvious by now – the Infinite Dragonflight that attacks Northrend is from the future. Just like how they jumped at Arthas in Stratholme, Thrall in Durnholde and Medivh in the opening of the Dark Portal, they're going to try and influence this event as well – though to what direction, and what the original course would be, and whether it will be ultimately changed, remains to be seen (though a Future Thrall charging in and spreading RAGE amongst the Infinites sounds a fun idea). And yeah, the Blues are out of the picture since their leader's demise… for now, at least. The Vrykul are around, just not explicitly mentioned yet, except for the Val'kyr that attacked Tyrande. They'll come into play, don't worry. As for Ulduar… I won't say anything much. But we're all in a kind of Ulduar fever these days. Wouldn't be easy to leave it out, y'know? As for the higher power… if you haven't gotten a bit of the idea already, this chapter gives a lot of relevant insight – though don't think all is revealed or set in stone just yet.

-BoromirDefender: The story of Jaina and Arthas is one of my favorites from the original Warcraft 3, and always felt the need to exploit it. Concerning Maiev, you're going to enjoy this chapter. And I'm glad you liked things so far, prepare for even larger doses of epicness.

-Shadow of What Once Was: As with many other reviewers, this chapter should satisfy you. And any non-major NPC that is involved with a specific faction, like the lieutenants / "boss adds" in every major city, should generally be assumed to be with their respective forces, unless / until mentioned otherwise. That said, I'm glad you are enjoying this, and I hope you stick around.

Now, about Valeera. Yes, she is a Rogue. However, that doesn't automatically bar her from arcane power – on the contrary, she has been shown to wield magic with decent aptitude. Seeing as it was the most practical weapon against the Trolls, which fought from range, whereas any Rogue skills would require her to get mixed up in their midst, she simply used magic instead. I may have 'overpowered' her magic skills a little. Don't worry, I'll put her on the correct path.

Without further ado, though –

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**Chapter VII: Abyssal Flames**

"The Dreadlords must go first, Lor'Themar!" Sylvanas yelled at her ally and unexpected rescuer, as the fight broke out again, fiercer than before. "If they die, the rest will break sooner or later!"

"It will be as you say, my Lady." Lor'themar replied formally, calm and collected even as the deathmatch raged around them. They had managed to get close enough to hear each other, but dared not come closer, for between them the three conjured Infernals were roaming, spreading burning death to any of her Forsaken or Blood Elves, be they Lor'themar's or Kael's, that stood in their way.

Sylvanas flinched at Lor'themar's words. Spoken so neutrally, so formally… an ally he might see her as, but never as one of his own. Caution, mistrust, was all Sylvanas heard in his words. She was one of the Undead now.

Which was just as well. As long as he helped her out, she had no complaints. "Hold them here!" She said, not caring if it sounded like an order despite hers and Lor'themar's supposedly equal standing, and turned around, heading uphill.

"Idiots! Kill her!" Kael screamed, pointing at her – a stream of green-colored fel fire rushed at her, missing her by a fair margin, but his pet Dreadlord wasted no time in coming after her.

"Now!" Sylvanas ordered. The heat from the arcane and demonic flames was overpowered by a sharp sensation of cold, and from overhead, the huge mass of an undead dragon descended. Its raven-colored scales glowed fiercely as it opened its jaws, and a huge sphere of black flame flew towards the Dreadlord. The magnificent explosion tore everything apart nearby, even some of her own minions – Sylvanas hardly felt any pity, definitely nothing compared to the joy of seeing her latest achievement at work. The Scourge began by turning the fallen Blue Dragons of Northrend to Frost Wyrms. Sylvanas didn't have the entire Dragonblight at her disposal, but the Burning Steppes were not out of her reach. A raid, led by her most trusted servants, in the Black Dragonflight stronghold of Blackrock Spire, had given birth to these new, wonderful creations. Plague Wyrms, the spearhead of Sylvanas' campaign, ready to be used against the Scourge. They would work here.

Her eyes only barely caught the shade of the Dreadlord, having survived her pet's attack, but still disoriented and out of commission for a while. That would be more than enough. Sylvanas found a new bow amidst the abundant remains of summoned skeletal archers that had been returned to their original state of a pile of bones. Aiming just above her head, where her keen eyes could discern through the arcane mist the shape of one of the Dragonhawks that were maintaining it, she let loose. A cry of pain let her know she had not missed. She leapt out of the way of the collapsing Dragonhawk – immediately, the mist that was held by its magical aura was lifted, and the majestic Meat Wagon that was armed with the New Plague emerged from within.

"Fire!!" Sylvanas commanded, and the mass of plagued essence compressed in the shape of an explosive grenade was hurled across the sky towards the Dreadlord that had attempted to intercept her. The demon's cry of rage was not enough to stop it from striking spot-on target, and though he survived the impact which he had narrowly managed to avoid, the effects of the New Plague on the Nathrezim soon became apparent. His scorched body was covered in deathly fumes, and he spat blood as the disease began tearing him apart from within. Soon, nothing but a pile of melting, deformed flesh was left.

Triumph once more for the Dark Lady.

"SYLVANAS!!" Kael's scream tore her away from joyous thoughts, and she saw her former prince charge through his ranks, unleashing a constant stream of fire that purged the undead that tried to stop him. Coming for her.

"Reload it, you idiots!" Sylvanas screamed at the apothecaries that were supposed to be in charge of the wagon. Two had fallen from the spears of a pair of Dragonhawk Riders that had rushed to cover the gap. One aimed for her with its javelin, while the other began using his mount's magical shroud.

Sylvanas stretched her hand, and just before the polearm left its wielder's hand, another, much more firm grip was placed on its controller's mind. Subjugating her enemy's brain, the queen of the Forsaken twisted his aim towards his comrade. She could not tell whose expression showed more fear and distress – the hapless elf's who was about to be impaled by his former companion, or the one who was about to launch the killing blow against his will, knowing that his time would soon follow. Nevertheless, the sky was clear again, and her servants had finally finished loading a new pack of plagued soil on the catapult, and moved it into position, this time aiming straight for Kael himself.

"Fire." Sylvanas pronounced the capital punishment. Death arced over the battlefield, falling down atop Kael's position…

The fires that blazed around the battle did not lose in intensity, but they seemed to pale and diminish. The dry breeze was replaced by scorching heat. The sky itself caught fire, and Sylvanas' eyes widened, not in shock, not in anger, but in pure, raw fear, as she faced something beyond her wildest imagination.

Entropic fire surrounded Kael'thas now – no, it _consumed_ him – a radiant blaze in a bird-like shape. His eyes were now burning orbs, and the upper portion of his robe had been reduced to dust before that sun-like heat. Two great wings of white-hot flame spread on either side of him, completing the appearance of one of those legendary immortal firebirds. But while those were said to be benevolent spirits, guardians of nature as agents of the Red Dragonflight, this was a twisted visage of one, corrupted by the influence of demons. The plagued bomb approached its intended target, but long before it could even get close, it was vaporized to nothing but thin air, even the gaseous fumes wiped out in that raging inferno.

"This is the end, Sylvanas." She heard Kael speak, and all the fire around him, all the fires in the world, surged overhead, culminating into a thick pillar. A hundred meters above the battlefield, the fire exploded into the burning shape of a rapidly descending Phoenix.

Cursing, Sylvanas began running like she'd never run before, betting on that slim, miniature chance she had to avoid a nigh-certain demise. Cries of despair first, then the stench of rapidly burning undead flesh, then the sound of an enormous blast overwhelmed her senses, before the hill she was running down from exploded in flames.

---

_Khadgar, stop the shield. _The mage felt rather than heard the soothing voice in his head, and nearly dropped the spell anyway from surprise.

_I cannot keep this up much longer._ A'dal explained. _We will have to fight them head-on until my power can be restored._

Slowly, reluctantly, Khadgar dismantled the joints that held together the barrier that protected the city. They'd been fighting for hours already, and A'dal's protective dome was the only reason they had survived this long – but Khadgar himself was feeling the effect of holding up a barrier for so long wearing down on him, and he was merely directing the flow of energy from the naaru. The strain on A'dal must be a thousandfold.

But he sensed something else, something the naaru hadn't seen fit to relate to him. Were they really approaching the upper limit of A'dal's power, or was there another, more obscure reason?

---

"It is about time." Illidan said, rising from his position overlooking the city. Vashj cast a questioning glance at him, but he paid no heed. He had been patient long enough for the naaru to display a weakness – he could see it with those blind eyes, the slight fading of the normally invisible mass of threads that composed the shield protecting Shattrath. If he did not use it now –

All of a sudden, without warning, the globe of light subsided, collapsing harmlessly into itself, the Mana sustaining it dissipating into thin streams of energy that faded into the air. Just like that, the naaru's power had been removed from Illidan's grasp.

_Treason_. Illidan thought immediately. _Who betrayed my plans to him?_ Yet he could think of noone. Only Vashj had been explicitly told some of the details of his scheme, and she was by him the whole time. Could A'dal have guessed...? Impossible.

"Lord Illidan, is there something amiss?" The Naga queried in her hissing voice.

"Round the troops." He growled instead of responding. It looked like he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way. Without the barrier, they should be able to begin the siege properly. "We're going in."

"As you command." Vashj replied, and called out to her Naga. The plan had already been discussed. She'd take her own forces as well as any Felblood Elves Illidan had managed to keep from Kael'thas and assault from the west, against the gate leading to the portion called the Aldor's Rise. He would take however many Fel Orcs and Demons he had in his service, which composed the bulk of his forces, and begin the siege from the opposite side, against the so-called Scryers that had betrayed him.

The soil was scorched and blackened as he tread towards Shattrath, towards his last desperate hope of winning the war against the Legion.

---

Though she had not been a field commander in over ten thousand years, Maiev had easily grown accustomed to her self-proclaimed role of captain of the Scryer defense. Though they had gone through being High Elves, then Blood Elves, then Scryers, she had not found it difficult to remind them that they were descended from the kaldorei, and as a high-ranking Sentinel, Maiev expected and earned obedience. For the purpose of fighting from the walls, she had picked up a stray bow – though her marksmanship didn't quite rival Tyrande's, she was a pretty adept shooter and had felled many Demons during their efforts to overpower A'dal's shield.

The encounter with the naaru had been, simply put, a miracle. Maiev had given up hope on living after Illidan's supposed death. The news of his continued survival had awoken the old thirst for revenge in her, the fire that was consuming her from the inside – only, after so long in the hunt, there was little left in her to consume. The little reserves of energy she still had left were depleted during the journey to Shattrath, and she would have died there, not caring in the least, had she not met A'dal.

Being in the presence of Shattrath's Guardian awoke a sensation of absolute peace and serenity in Maiev's heart, one she had believed had been lost to her during the long ages of her duty as Illidan's jailor. She felt as if she was still wandering around the shaded forests of Ashenvale, beneath the light of Elune's stars, still a child being taught about the secrets of the woods, untouched by the miasma of the Burning Legion. A'dal represented all that could stir Maiev's heart. A world without the Legion. A world where the Legion had never been.

For this world, Maiev was ready to fight for. For this dream, for this utopia, the Avatar of Vengeance would rise, not for revenge, but for hope.

_Hear me, defenders of Shattrath_. A'dal's voice echoed inside Maiev's head. _The shield protecting the city will be lifted. It will be up to you to hold the invaders until it can be established again._

Perfect. Maiev knew that defending would never be enough to grant them victory here. They needed to strike back. If they cut off their head, their enemies would flee in disarray. And it was exactly that head that Maiev had wanted to cut for ten thousand years now.

"Voren'thal." She addressed the Scryers' leader. "Take care of things over here. I'm getting down there." If the man had anything to say about this, Maiev didn't wait to hear. She simply discarded her bow, taking up her two circled blades, and leapt from parapet to parapet down to ground level, behind the barred gates that stood between herself and Illidan.

_Just like the old times._

"Open the gates." She ordered the two Draenei Vindicators that stood guard on either side. The pair gave her an astonished look – it would be unthinkable for anyone to want to venture out there within the mass of demons, and disastrous if the gates stayed open for just that one second needed for them to overwhelm the defenders. But Maiev knew what she was doing. "Now. By A'dal's command, let me out of the city."

Whether it was Maiev's sheer commanding aura, or the claim she lay upon A'dal's decisions, the Warden neither knew nor cared. The point was that the gates opened, just enough for her to sneak through. Immediately, Illidan's servants flooded in from every direction, in their eyes, the door to their goal open, with just a little frail elf standing in their way.

"Vanish."

The massacre that followed, Maiev had not lived through its likes since the Legion's first invasion. Demons jumped at her from everywhere – and fell. A lot of them were cut down by her blades personally, others were slaughtered by the Scryer blood mages from the walls overhead. Still, she would have been long overwhelmed and killed, had the rest of the attackers not been simply purged out of existence, cut down to shreds by invisible strings that seemed to follow up on the movements of her weapons, extinguishing the Demon's lives in a pillar of light. Eventually, the tide of attackers slowed down, hesitating in front of instant, inescapable death, and the path cleared before her, cleared till she could lay eyes upon her final target.

"Illidan." Maiev roared, and with a step, closed the distance between them, her blade meeting the scythe-like curved weapons Illidan was wielding. His expression was a mixture of shock, outrage, and no small hints of fear, as the Warden fought him evenly, blow-for-blow. No, the difference was close, but Maiev definitely had the upper hand.

"You!" The demon-hunter exclaimed. "How did you – no!" His eyes widened further as he parried Maiev's strike, a blow that had nearly taken his head off. "I… impossible!" He finally realized the truth behind Maiev's overwhelming power, and his soon-to-be demise.

One of the naaru in the city, V'eru, had offered to donate a portion of its energy to empower Maiev's weapons. This, as A'dal had explained, was a great sacrifice, as it significantly sped the process of the donating naaru running out of energy and regressing to a darkened state, in which they have no control over their power and can be exploited by the dark energies of the void they draw upon. Though this was part of a naaru's natural lifespan, it was still a state akin to death for the immortal beings. The crystal that became the core of the Ashbringer, the mightiest weapon in Azeroth, was the core of a naaru that completely gave up its power for that purpose. A similar crystal, though of much lower magnitude, now burned in Maiev's blade, granting her the power of the Light.

"It's over, Illidan!" The Warden screamed, raising her enchanted weapon – Illidan was forced to cross both of his warglaives to block her strike, but Maiev pulled a poisoned dagger from her cloak with her free hand, and…

A storm of black streams of raw Mana raged over the battlefield, soaring across the sky like a demonic meteor shower, to either slam into the ground causing gigantic explosions that wiped Illidan's demons to dust, or bury themselves in Shattrath's walls with much the same effect – even the sanctified stone could not hold against their power, and part of the wall gave way, burying dozens of Scryer defenders beneath the rubble.

The chaos had separated Maiev from Illidan, and for the moment, they had bigger concerns. The Warden looked bewildered around for the source of this destruction – but she spotted Illidan first, an Illidan looking far more frightened than he had during their brief duel, staring straight ahead. Maiev followed his gaze onto a throng of new arrivals, demons of the worst sort. Unlike the Illidari, the newcomers seemed handpicked amongst the Burning Legion's elites – Dreadlords and Fel Reavers, Pit Lords and Infernals, Doomguards and Eredari Warlocks; it was a sight to behold, and one that froze Maiev cold in her place. Though she did not recognize the figure at the front, she could already tell he was one of the Ered'ruin, the same cursed Demon tribe like Kil'Jaeden and Archimonde themselves, which was more of a reason to be afraid.

"This is… Doom Lord Kazzak!!" Illidan exclaimed, instantly stepping back into a defensive posture – Maiev did not think that she had ever seen the Demon Hunter so frightened before, not once during his long years of imprisonment, and not even later during their multiple confrontations since his release.

"You are right, mortal." The demon's deep voice echoed like the burning heat, as flames raged from his eyes and hands. "I am Kazzak, herald of the Burning Legion, and today is the day you will perish."

"Kazzak?!" Maiev yelled suddenly, her recollection striking back at her. "You mean – "

"Yes, night elf." The Eredar lord replied. "You must have heard my name during your confrontation with my servant, Morgoron. You must have guessed by now that it was my hand that led you to this place." Though Maiev did not respond, words frozen within her mouth, the Doom Lord seemed to take her reply for granted. "You were a wonderful toy, Maiev Shadowsong. And an excellent tool."

"What do you mean?" Maiev snapped angrily.

"Did you think that all those years in Outland left you unchanged? Untainted? Wrong, elf. You carry within you a curse more ancient than the Legion or the Pantheon, a curse fed throughout those years you lay in your cage, imprisoned in despair. Did you hear whispers, Warden? Voices talking to you in the darkness?"

Maiev flinched. It was true, but she had assumed it was just the depression of her imprisonment and burning desire for revenge getting at her. She had –

"Unbound evil, bent on destruction. Eons ago, from the shattered remnants of the Old Gods of Azeroth, imbued with their own formidable power, the Titans constructed an artifact known as the Mirror of the Abyss. That item was created with one purpose in mind, and one purpose only. To conquer the indomitable might of the single sentient race in the universe whose power matched the Titans – the Angels of Light, the naaru."

Maiev blinked. The Old Gods? She had heard those stories before. But how did they –

"Once they ascertained the naaru were benevolent, and would not attempt to harm or destroy them, the Titans established welcomed peace with them, and shattered the Mirror in three shards, so that it could never be used again. But ages went by, and the Old Gods, merely slumbering beneath the surface of Azeroth, awoke once more. Their murmurs drove the Highborne of Tirisfal mad, twisted the Aqir into the Nerubian spiders, vanquished the remnants of the Troll empires of Ahn'Qiraj… paved the path for all that the Legion and its harbinger, the Scourge, would bring forth. The pieces of the Mirror of the Abyss slowly regained a small part of the original's formidable strength – though not by any means as strong as the prototype, instead of being useless as originally intended, they are now miniature versions of their combined form. One found its way to Northrend, and was used by my master, Kil'Jaeden, to seal the Frozen Throne and the Lich King's prison. The other was lost somewhere in the depths of the Maelstrom. The third…"

"When Medivh opened the Dark Portal and initiated the First War, even in his wildest dreams he could not have guessed the adverse effects of its opening. One of the Old Gods was buried beneath what is now called the Blasted Lands. When the Portal was opened, the pulse of magic was so strong that a part of him, the core of his essence, was warped across the Twisting Nether into Outland. Attracted by the magical energies of Shadowmoon, it found its way beneath the valley, where it resides even as we speak, ever-growing in strength. His dark influence has corrupted your mind, making you easy prey for the curse of the shard of the Mirror of the Abyss that the ancient deity had managed to replicate here from the original's core. Though this wasn't probably in the Old God's original intentions, it has transformed you into a living counter weapon against the Light. The naaru, A'dal, sensed this as soon as you entered Shattrath, but foolishly allowed you to stay, hoping that you could be cured, and even managed to somewhat contain the corruption that was eating you alive, along with the efforts of the naaru whose crystal is now bound to your weapon. Their benevolence was their downfall. They greatly weakened themselves in the process, and were unable to hold the city's defense, thus leading into your confrontation with Illidan, which was one of our prime goals, and opened the path for us to take Shattrath by force."

"So you see, Maiev Shadowsong… what we could not touch, you brought within our grasp. Your blind hatred has allowed us to conquer the last pocket of resistance in Outland. With Shattrath gone, every Alliance and Horde stronghold in this land will fall, and we will be free to use the Dark Portal once more and invade Azeroth en masse. Such service to the Legion hasn't been seen even from its greatest field commanders."

Every word felt like another stab in Maiev's mind. Manipulated, led like a dog on an invisible leash, tossed around like a ball between the Burning Legion and the Old God for their own purposes, and now she had to bear the curse of knowing that she had condemned the world, and knowing she could have done nothing to prevent it.

"Ideally, we would have had you finish Illidan off while you were at it, making things even easier for us. But there was a margin of error, you understand – the off-chance that your side would dominate the battlefield, and the naaru would come up with a last desperate plan – did you know that the Terrace of Light was once part of a naaru fortress like Tempest Keep, able to shift through dimensions when propelled by one of them? – that could still somehow thwart our plans. Rather than risk it, I decided to come here myself and destroy you both while you are at your weakest, sealing our ultimate triumph."

Maiev could not even raise her arms to defend herself, not when guilt and horror was consuming her. Doom Lord Kazzak pointed at her with his finger, charging a bolt of Nether Shadow.

"Farewell."

The pulsing, sparkling black energy of the Shadow Bolt struck, but was consumed by another, deeper darkness. When the aftermath of the attack subsided, a gigantic black shape towered nearly at the Doom Lord's formidable height, emulating a huge shadow of Maiev's form almost to the letter. In front of the Avatar's feet, the Warden herself stood still, surrounded by the Light. The Holy Light, the power of the naaru, the light of Elune. The hope of all beings that one day, the demons would be gone, and the Legion would be but a forgotten nightmare.

"You took things too far, _Doom Lord_ Kazzak." Maiev made a broad motion with her right arm, and the Avatar of Vengeance imitated her. Thousands of shadows rose from the battlefield, angry spirits of vengeance that were more than willing to fight by Maiev's side. "Your pride will become your tomb today."

Only a few feet away, another darkness akin to the one Kazzak had used against her blazed, surrounding Illidan's body – when that dissipated, a demon emerged from within, matching in color and quality a mixture between Maiev's Avatar and Eredar sorcery. "Though I hate to side with the Warden, there's no other choice. To destroy you, and end the Legion's hold on me – I will kill you."

Maiev nodded slightly. Her old self would never have considered siding with Illidan. But she had managed to learn, at least, that the world was not white-and-black. And if she was going to defeat Kazzak, if she was going to realize everyone's hope for a better future – she would just have to ally herself with a very, _very_ dark shade of grey.

For now, at least.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Notes: So, loose ends start getting tied together, and the war begins in earnest. Just a small note here… there will only be another two chapters until THE STORY ENDS!

No, not even close. But after the ninth and tenth chapter are up, a short break in the main storyline will follow, in which four interludes will be posted one after the other to shed some light in events still shrouded in shadow that are crucial to the way the plot will unfold. Anyway, more information about them when the time is due.

Now, onto the reviews.

-Eiko: Thanks. Maiev won't have it easy, at all.

-Shadow of What Once Was: Lor'themar will get his time, don't worry. The battle in Tirisfal began more focused on Sylvanas and Kael, but that will change. And as for the traitor of Kirin Tor… well, I expect a few to have figured it out by now, given the course the plot has taken. Then again, no need to bother – he'll be revealed in all his glory in this very chapter.

-BoromirDefender: Yep, Maiev has a lot to go through to atone for the way she screwed up in the past. I'm not a fan of the 'easy, happy' endings.

-Seproth: Thanks, I corrected that… sometimes when you're tired, you might screw up a thing or two =/. I'm glad you liked Sylvanas, as for Kael'thas, he used a direct damage Felfire variation of the Phoenix spell that causes the summoned being to explode in fire. And the masterminds… yeah, some of them have revealed themselves by now… Kil'Jaeden, and Arthas of course, not that one wouldn't expect those… the Infinites as well, and the Old Gods' influence is always present… but it is still way too early to be guessing about the true end-villains and their motives.

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**Chapter VIII: The Dawn of Infinity**

Streams of flame like crimson meteors seared through the azure sky, fire hot enough to melt steel as if it was butter, unleashed to burn, burn the future to save the past and present, and only the majestic sight of the dragons that used them could be more impressive than the display. Impressive, and frightening, very frightening, for though none of them held back, Korialstrasz could easily see that the Wyrmrest Accord was no match for the Infinite Dragonflight.

Korialstrasz would have liked to think it was due to their darkened counterparts superior strength, speed, or stamina, their intelligence or tactical skill, that they were overwhelming them. Disadvantages could be negated, balances tipped, deficiencies made up for. But the great Red Dragon very much feared that it was not so. Attacks that should have struck missed their target completely. Counterstrikes that should have been avoided slammed into the bodies of the defenders of the Accord, toppling even the gigantic behemoths. It wasn't a matter of speed, precision, or reaction time. Reality itself seemed to distort, time and space molding themselves in favor of the Infinite Dragonflights. Under these odds, even the most prominent of the Wyrmrest's forces had difficulty keeping up with their opponents. Only Korialstrasz and Afrastrasz had remained completely unscathed thus far – others had been far less lucky, some being even burnt to dust where they flew with the Infinite's sickly green firebreath. Who could tell how far they could keep it up?

A blurry shape in front alerted Korialstrasz' senses – as if out of nowhere, an Infinite Dragon appeared and unleashed his attack in front of the Dragonqueen's consort. Korialstrasz glided sideways, letting the fiery beam miss him by inches, before pushing his body upwards to challenge his target from above. However, almost instantly, he felt his body freezing, his muscles solidifying in place, unable to move, or even blink, only his mind furiously working, as he realized he had been frozen in time. The dragon opened its mouth again, and Korialstrasz braced himself for the potentially lethal strike…

A torrent of crimson and gold, an inferno of the purging flames of dominion, released with the force of a thunderbolt, swept across the sky overhead, enveloping the Infinite Dragon who was still in the middle of releasing his strike – the black shape was visible only for an instance, screaming in deathly agony, before the airborne blaze subsided into specks of flame, leaving nothing behind. Korialstrasz felt his nerves loosen, and suddenly he could move again.

"Beware, Korialstrasz." Alexstrasza warned him as she flew by, a kaleidoscope of colors in all her majestic fury as she fueled more scarlet flames that seemed to always find their targets. "Let your guard down for an instance, and they will kill you."

Of course, compared to the power of an Aspect, the time-wringing abilities of the Infinite Dragons held no sway. Without the Dragonqueen, they would have probably been destroyed already, wiped out in their entirety. But how long could she hold them off by herself, especially when more and more appeared, their numbers growing, matching the name they called themselves by? And just as importantly – why was Alexstrasza fighting alone? Where were Ysera, and Nozdormu? The Green and Bronze Dragonflights had pledged their support to the Accord, and even whatever was left of the Black and the Blue joined in the combined effort, despite the other Dragon's suspicion and even outright hostility towards them. Though Malygos had been neutralized, and Deathwing had fallen, even if Ysera remained in the Emerald Dream, at least Nozdormu, as the Keeper of Time, should have come to lend his aid in this crucial fight. His absence, most of all, was entirely troublesome.

---

Elated with their initial success, the Argent Crusade had pushed through Angrathar, after assembling all the forces they could muster in the northern Dragonblight, into Icecrown with the help of the Skybreaker and Orgrim's Hammer that were used to transport troops en masse behind the enemy lines, opening the path to the siege of the Icecrown Citadel. It was in front of the Citadel itself that the devastating battle took place, that ended so abruptly and destructively with the fall of Tirion and the departure of the Wyrmrest Accord. Now they were pushed back, but not along the route they had led their assault and they had planned to retreat through if things went badly, but straight to the north, into the mountain passes of Ymirheim and against the walls of Corp'rethar. The undead planned to trap them like rats and murder them at will.

Well, not if Muradin had any say in this bloody business.

The reason the brave dwarf had not been by his brother's side from the very start was a secret not even many in the Crusade had been made privy to. For fear of betrayal, to be certain, but also to prevent long inbred hatreds and prejudices to surface, breaking the fight before it even began. After first blood was spilled, though, Muradin was more than certain that the Crusaders, Alliance and Horde alike, would accept the backup plan with enthusiasm. And there'd been an ocean of blood spilled already.

"Fire the flares!" He ordered one of the Mortar teams that were backing him up as he tried to block an assault from enraged Nerubians that wanted to carve a hole into the Dwarven ranks. In the absence of Magni who, though not severely injured, was recuperating from his extensive fight against that damn Anub'arak who had somehow survived the raid in Azjol Nerub, Muradin took command of the army.

"Aye aye, sir!" The men replied, and from their cannon a flare shot up, painting a bright red spot on the sky, above both the Crusade's Gryphon and Wyvern riders and mechanical choppers and the Scourge's Gargoyles and Frost Wyrms. Though it went largely unnoticed by the warring factions in the midst of battle, its effects certainly weren't.

"Go! Purge the Undead!"

With this warcry, a maelstrom of reinforcements arrived from the east, pouring in through the secured Angra'thar. Though there was already a throng of undead stationed between them and the gate, even they were completely overwhelmed in a matter of seconds as the combined forces of Furbolgs, Murlocs, Centaurs, and others, many, many others – Gnomes, Goblins, Frost Giants… the entirety of the native races of Azeroth had risen up to support the Crusade. Muradin and Brann had taken care of it, and left High Tinker Mekkatorque and his extremely charismatic leadership skills to lead them. The Taunka, led by Chieftain Ashtotem. The warring Gorloc Oracles and Frenzyheart Furbolgs, having abandoned their never-ending struggle in Sholazar to help the Crusade banish the undead once and for all. The Magram and Gelkis Centaurs. The Sons of Hodir, risen from their posts in the Storm Peaks by King Jokkum himself. Even the ever-neutral Goblins, having finally decided that there'd be no money to make over a land ruled by the undead, had decided to send their own reinforcements – flying Zeppelins carrying other troops, but even armies of mechanical shredders and tanks and any other destructive contraption imaginable, an impressive display even by Gnomish standards, spearheading the assault against the undead blocking their path. So many, so many had risen. All the world needed was an example. The Burning Legion's vanguard had been destroyed by a coalition between the Orcs, Humans and Night Elves, and Muradin would have loved to be there to see it. The thread of the Black dragons infiltrating the human kingdoms had been dealt with by coordinated efforts by most of the allied lands. The Burning Crusade had been halted by the naaru's efforts to unite the Horde and the Alliance together. Now the world faced the wrath of the Lich King – and in response, it had assembled together to fight back.

But, Muradin thought, no matter what they did here – the Lich King still had to be dealt with, and with Tirion vanquished, another hero had taken up his place…

…but could he win?

---

"Your resistance is futile. Darkness will consume all. Your war is already finished." Metal struck against metal, again and again. The Lich King spared little effort to parry his opponent's strikes, and was easily pushing him back.

"Do you think I am not aware of that?" Mograine growled. The Death Knight had to put all he had into the hands that held the sword that was once his father's, the legendary Ashbringer, to keep Frostmourne from lopping his head off in one strike. "Do you think I still harbor meaningless, shallow hope? It is vengeance that drives my hand. Revenge, for my stolen life!" Darion raised the blade overhead, and brought it down – the sanctioned dwarf-cast mithril clashed with the runeblade that was wielded by the Lich King. A weapon straight from the runeforges of the Burning Legion, Frostmourne could not be overwhelmed by mortal weapons. The Lich King could not be slain by mortal hands. Tirion was their last hope, but due to Darion's blunder, he now lay broken on the ground, his blood dying the cold ice crimson. Yes – from the establishment of Acherus to Tirion's death, Darion was largel that was wielded by the Lich King. A weapon straight from the runeforges of the Burning Legion, Frostmourne could not be overwhelmed by mortal weapons. The Lich King could not be slain by mortal hands. Tirion was their last hope, but due to Darion's blunder, he now lay broken on the ground, his blood dying the cold ice crimson. Yes – from the establishment of Acherus to Tirion's death, Darion was largely responsible for most of the events that led the world to this desperate state. He knew that, he knew there was no salvation for him even in the unlikely case of victory. He knew, yet he fought on, driven by his desire to atone, ever so slightly, for the wrongs he had done, and to extract revenge for those done upon him.

"Then why won't you call upon the power of the Ashbringer?" Arthas inquired, lunging for Mograine's throat. The Death Knight leapt back, but Frostmourne still cut a small gash on his neck. Immediately, excruciating pain filled him, and he had to let the handle of his sword with one hand in order to clutch his wound. The Lich King took the opportunity to attack again, and Mograine was knocked backwards, barely able to save himself by putting his weapon in front of him.

"If you have nothing to lose, why not go all-out? Are you afraid you will share Fordring's fate? Or are you afraid the Light won't hear your call? You are cursed, Mograine, bound to my eternal will. Even now, you are like a puppet in my hands. You, and everything else, living or undead, in this world, dances to my tune, Death Knight. You could have had a piece of all this. But you rejected my power for false hope. It is this hope that will be your doom, just like the rest of your so-called Crusade."

"I am not your puppet!" Mograine screamed, leaping to his feet – the Ashbringer blazed golden, and he prepared to lash out.

"So easy to manipulate." Arthas raised his hand, and from within, the shred of the Mirror of the Abyss that had been used to seal the Frozen Throne, and now lay within his grasp, shone black – the Ashbringer faltered and the light died out, and Mograine, the power of his assault diminished to nothing, fell back panting heavily.

"This artifact hails from the Age of the Titans, long before recorded time. I never knew about it until my soul was imprisoned within the Frozen Throne, but once I was released, I realized its usefulness. It is designed to destroy the Light, Mograine, to absorb it and turn it to darkness. Originally meant as a potential weapon against the naaru, who could prove a threat even to the god-like Pantheon if they were hostile, now it lay broken, retaining figments of its original strength. Yet even one of those shards is enough to lay the power of the Ashbringer to heel, Mograine. The crystal in it is constructed out of a naaru's crystallized soul, an embodiment of what you call the Light. But with the Mirror of the Abyss, with just this single shard, its power will only serve my ends. Just like everything else. Just like you."

The Lich King loomed over his once-minion, Frostmourne hovering close to his face. "Tirion was extinguished, his soul stolen, because he was filled by the Holy Light when the Abyss Mirror drained it away. You, on the other hand, survived unscathed, and only the blade was affected. Do you understand why, Mograine? The Light has forsaken you, forever. Even when you fight in its name, its touch is but an illusion, the unreachable mirage of a moon mirrored in the water. You are consumed by darkness, Mograine. You _are_ darkness."

"Yes." Darion whispered. "I am."

A cone of darkened frost shot up from the former Paladin's free hand, enveloping the Lich King, who merely stepped back a few inches, waving it away with a sweeping motion of his free hand. "Did you expect to defeat me with the powers I gave you, Death Knight? Pathetic."

"Wrong, Arthas." The crystallized dust that had formed a shroud between them scattered to reveal Mograine slamming the Ashbringer into the ice. "I can't kill you, but I can at least take you out long enough for your minions to die."

"What are you – no!" The most powerful being on Azeroth growled in frustration, trying in vain to step back as the crack Mograine had created exploded in a pillar of light, expanding in all directions, the ice shattering into a hole large enough to drag both the Lich King, and the Death Knight, into the impossible depths of some long-forgotten abyss.

And as he fell, knowing that this was the last time he would lay eyes upon the sun, even a sun as cold and merciless as the one overhead, Mograine smiled, hoping that he had managed to buy, at least, some time.

Some more time for the world to hold that precious thing called hope in their hearts…

---

Rhonin cast a glance around. They were surrounded by hordes of angry undead. Their only real hope of overwhelming them without devastating casualties lay on the wagon in their midst, and the artifact it carried – but was it even possible to deploy it here? And one more, less pressing in the face of the situation, but just as important question ran through Rhonin's mind. Who? Who had betrayed their plans to the Lich King? The Kirin Tor had magical sentries spying all over Northrend – nearly all the undead had been assembled in Icecrown to prepare for the Crusade's siege. Everything else was empty. There was no place in Northrend an army so large could come from without notice, until it was assembled and hidden beforehand.

"Vareesa." He said quietly.

"No."

"You have to."

"I will not leave you." His wife's eyes glowed fiercely as she looked at him, determined not to budge. A man could get lost in those eyes.

"The Crusade has to be warned, Vareesa. Tirion is counting on us. Damnit, Vareesa. Someone has betrayed us. I can't trust anyone else to do this but you."

"I won't, Rhonin. I will fight and die alongside you."

Rhonin sighed. She was just too stubborn for her own good. The Kirin Tor's leader easily shrugged off the memory of the hundreds of times he had been told the same in the past.

"Then I have to make you. I'm sorry, my love." He said, and before a surprised Vareesa had time to more than move her hand, he had raised his own and let Mana flow into a spell – a cosmic vortex surrounded his wife, teleporting her away. Rhonin hoped he had aimed well enough – he had aimed towards the mountains in the north that separated Crystalsong Forest from the Icecrown Glacier, since they were empty from undead, but the distance was long and he had cast it hastily. Anyway, it _should_ be safer than this place. And Vareesa could easily reach the Crusade's forces from there.

Rhonin whirled around towards the wagons. He had a battle to win.

"Prepare for activation immediately!" He ordered. Alvareaux, Han'al, Modera, Aethas and Ansirem, the Archmages appointed to watch over the weapon, moved as one – but suddenly, five pillars of azure light erupted from the ground forming a pentacle around the wagon. The mages were violently pushed back, and when they tried to approach again were stopped by a semi-invisible barrier. Rhonin recognized the spell as a dimension-sealing barrier – until the runes used to generate that invincible prison were found and destroyed, only then could the seal be dismantled – but more importantly, he recognized the perpetrator, and the caster who had now summoned a magical sphere around him, walking casually towards the head of the undead formation where a Lich watched the turn of events.

"Damnit, Timear." Rhonin growled. "Why?"

"Why?" Timear asked, sounding surprised. "Haven't you understood the moment you saw me cast that spell, Rhonin? I can see the future. I've seen how events will unfold, and have decided that it's best if I stop this expedition here."

"You think it's best to let the Scourge ravage Azeroth?" Rhonin asked incredulously. "They will kill you too, and turn you into one of them! Have you fallen so low, Timear? What were you promised? Power? Dominion?"

"The Scourge?" Timear inquired silently, as if talking to himself. "Yes. It is a fitting appearance, after all. But never fear, Rhonin. I haven't allied myself with their likes. The Scourge is merely a distraction to what is really important."

"My real allies… are of a different sort."

Astounded, the Archmage of the Kirin Tor could only watch in horror, as the bodies of the undead slowly deteriorated into a sea of darkness, from which the shapes of huge serpentine creatures – Dragons! – arose into the sky.

"What have you done, Timear?" Rhonin yelled. Instinctively, as if all minds were one, the Kirin Tor funneled their mana into a magical dome that formed overhead, completely protecting them from outside attacks. For now, at least. "What – "

"I have joined forces with the Infinite Dragonflight, to preserve the future from the mortals' interference that could lead to a fate much worse than your petty conflict with the Scourge, Rhonin!" Timear replied heatedly.

"…at least, that's the assumption one might come to. But it's not entirely correct. You see, I didn't quite joined forces with them…"

The abyssal darkness warped Timear, and though Rhonin was prepared, the sight of the gargantuan behemoth that blackened the sky, its long and sleek body covered in black scales that distorted the light in a manner Earthbound metal never could, making it almost impossible for one to capture the entirety of the creature in his eyes without his vision sliding away, still filled him with primordial fear.

"I _am_ one of them."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: A series of revelations unfold in this chapter, some of which you may find predictable – others may still surprise you. If you find yourself frowning upon one part or the other, especially some concerning the Old Gods, don't fret over it – expect any apparent contradictions or inaccuracies to be explained in detail in future chapters. Also, given the short time between the updates, there wasn't time for the usual quartet of reviews, so I'll sum up my responses here – Shadow, I wouldn't be quite as certain about Darion's fate yet. Fortunately, you won't have to wait more than one more chapter to find out about it in detail.

-----------------------------------------

**Chapter IX: Embrace the Inferno**

The fiery hell towered to the heavens, setting the sky itself ablaze. Lor'themar Theron had seen a Phoenix summoned before, but never one so powerful. He sensed the awe and fear in his soldiers. They were afraid of this power, and yet lusted to wield it. The renewal of the Sunwell had not quite cured them of their arcane dependence.

Whether Sylvanas had survived the assault or not was of no huge consequence to the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas. They had been friends once, and he had been quite fond of his superior. However, following the fall of Silvermoon and Sylvanas' death and rebirth into the ranks of the Scourge, Lor'themar considered all ties between them broken. It was not so much as a change in personal feelings, but… the undead were an anomaly, something that couldn't exist within the laws of nature. More than that, they had ravaged Quel'Thalas till there was nothing left, destroyed the Sunwell and decimated the High Elven populace. True, that was done under the command of Arthas, now crowned Lich King, but despite the independence the Forsaken's had supposedly achieved, Sylvanas' tactics and attitude were not that much different of those of the Scourge. In a way, she was farther from them than Kael'thas now.

Speaking of which, this was another betrayal Lor'themar could not afford to tolerate. After observing the inferno that was still blazing ahead for a few more seconds, he turned to the wayward prince.

"It is time to finish this, Kael'thas Sunstrider." He said calmly. Retrieving his longbow carved from its strap along his back, the once Ranger, now lord of the Blood Elves, armed it with one of his feathered arrows and aimed straight at the traitor prince's chest.

"You still don't understand, Lor'themar." Kael said quietly, turning around to face his compatriot. Before it had a chance to pierce his heart, the projectile caught flame and was turned to dust in mid-flight, though its intended target had not even cast a glance at it. "I promised that I would find a way to relieve the Blood Elves of their arcane addiction. The fel magic of the Burning Legion is the answer to that. I promised them glory, and power. By Kil'Jaeden's side, we found both. It is you who are the outcasts, the separatists, the traitors. Look at us, Lor'themar, and decide who wields the superior power. You can't deny reality. I gave you a chance to join me, in spite of the wayward path you decided to follow. You chose to turn me down. Even then, I was willing to let you be, as long as you did not interfere with my plans. But you made even that impossible, Lor'themar." Kael'thas raised his arm, pointing a finger at Lor'themar – a stream of fire crossed the distance between them, to be timely deflected by the arcane shield Rommath put up between them.

"It is a shame that you had to drag more of my people to your insane cause." Kael said, shaking his head. "I expected more from you, Rommath."

"That is my line, prince Kael. No – you have no right to claim that title any more." The Grand Magister retorted. "Have you forgotten history, Kael'thas Sunstrider? The Burning Legion is manipulating you just as it did with the orcs, to serve its own ends and nothing more. Once they're done with you, you will be tossed aside like nothing!"

"Once they're done with me?" Kael asked, incredulity reaching his voice. Framed as he was by the fiery hell he had brought down, he looked more sinister, and more insane, than ever. "You are an idiot, Rommath. When that time comes, with the weapons I will have at my disposal, even the Legion will bow down to me. Do you see those Dreadlords, Rommath? Why do you think they have chosen to side with me?"

"Weapons, Kael?" Lor'themar turned around in surprise at the female voice, and he was not the only one. Rommath and Halduron whipped their heads in astonishment, and even Kael turned to face the newcomer. A woman, clad in blue and gold, with massive shoulderpads protruding from her full plate armor, emanating an aura of strength and ferocious power.

"You mean the power of the naaru?" Lady Liadrin, who had just arrived on the field of battle accompanied by a legion of her Blood Knights, asked coldly. "Forget about it. The Light of the naaru would be beyond your reach, even if we weren't going to finish what should have been done in the Sunwell Plateau. But you will die now, Kael, just as you should have died then."

"Why aren't you in Northrend?" Lor'themar snapped. He had ordered Liadrin to assemble Silvermoon's Blood Knights and join the Crusade in Northrend. He himself had seen, with the help of Shattrath's Scryers, that Kael was planning an expedition in Azeroth – as soon as he could determine the position where he had ported his forces into, he realized that his target was the undead in Undercity and moved in to counter him. But still, the Blood Elves were supposed to join the Crusade's effort – even Kael was a distraction in the war against the Lich King.

"We tried to get there, Lor'themar." Liadrin snapped. "But the portal… closed… before we could enter."

"What? What are you talking about?" For all the various reasons he had expected to hear, this was one he did not. "What do you mean, 'the portal closed'? Silvermoon is full of mages, surely one must have been able to – "

"It's not like that." Liadrin interrupted him. Now everyone on the battlefield was carefully listening to their conversation, the battle almost forgotten. Even the Dreadlords were paying attention. "We opened a portal to Dalaran, but it… snapped shut… before anyone could enter. As if from its own will. We tried again, and again, then we tried different locations in Northrend, but the results were the same. Then we tried opening one here, and it worked. Something has happened, Lor'themar. We can't open a portal to Northrend."

"What could have – " Lor'themar began wondering. "It must be the Nexus War!" He came to a conclusion. "If the Blue Dragons have managed to disturb the leylines enough, then – "

"It is not that, you fool." Kael spoke, and his tone was low and soft. One could have almost said he was afraid. "Malygos' destruction of the leylines has nothing to do with… _this_. Can't you feel it?"

"Something _much_ more terrible has begun."

As if to impress upon those ominous words, the skies turned black, and the sound of an explosion, of a thousand explosions happening all at once, covered everything.

---

Despite her consort's pessimistic predictions, Alexstrasza's onslaught against the Infinite Dragonflight was going well. The tide of reinforcements had lessened, and the Red Aspect's strength had been enough to overwhelm most of them, and force them to a standstill. Slowly, but surely, the Accord was gaining ground.

Suddenly, Alexstrasza felt time freezing around her. The Dragonqueen struggled to move, but even she could not resist _this_ much power. She looked around bewildered. Everywhere, in every direction, Infinite Dragons were appearing from portals randomly opening in the sky, from the past, future and present, many, too many to even begin to count, freezing the timeline in place. With this many dragons using a halting spell of this magnitude, the entire Dragonblight must be frozen in place. With this many dragons, even Alexstrasza was forced to a halt.

"It is over, Dragonqueen." Who appeared to be their leader, a massive dragon, its color and shape distorted in the shadows of time, with deathly-looking green eyes, said, its voice desynchronized from the motions of his mouth and repeating itself twice, as if coming from the past and the future as well as the present, said coldly. At the same time, every Infinite Dragon around her opened its jaws and charged a black beam of destruction.

_Not so fast, mongrels._ Alextrasza thought, unable to express herself through words as the muscles of her mouth refused to move. But that would soon change – Alexstrasza might lack the time-controlling powers of Nozdormu, but her own strength existed beyond time, granted by the Titans themselves. No matter what was done to her physical form, nothing could tame _that_.

_Burn_.

Fire exploded from the Dragonqueen's body, primordial flames from another age, reaching out and embracing the dragons and their attacks. The pressure that was holding her in place was suddenly lifted as her enemies were extinguished from existence, and she found herself involuntarily pushing upwards, moved by the strain she had placed on her body while immobilized, now hovering on level with the dragon that had spoken who, in spite of the blaze still raging around him, looked relatively unharmed. Nothing remained of the rest of her attackers. The battle froze, and all the remaining Infinite Dragons assembled around her and their leader, but hesitating to engage her. The Wyrmrest Accord, now reduced to roughly three-fourths of the original number that had set off to join the war effort in Icecrown, hovered tentatively around that ring, ready to interfere, but at the same time unwilling to do anything that would endanger that precarious standstill that had been established.

"Are you their leader?" Alexstrasza demanded angrily, boring at the large Infinite Dragon with her piercing eyes.

"I will not answer that question, Dragonqueen." He said again in that unsettling voice. Staring at him was like looking into an abyss – Alexstrasza found she could not follow the lines that formed his shape with her eyes to their completion, instead, her gaze slid somewhere in the middle, defocusing and breaking contract. His form seemed ever-shifting, like it constantly warped between different points in time. Only his eyes remained consistent, fixated on her own.

"What do you plan on doing? Why do you oppose us? Who do you work for?" The Dragon Aspect continued her questions. From what she had gathered from the Bronze agents, the Infinite seemed to have no solid purpose. They had attempted to interfere in events during the opening of the Dark Portal, Thrall the Horde's Warchief original escape from Durnholde Keep, and Arthas' destruction of Stratholme, each time by killing the protagonists of those acts. They had also sensed some interference in the timeline warped around the battle of Mount Hyjal and Archimonde's destruction, but when they had investigated through time, nothing seemed out of place. The pattern of their 'attacks' seemed random, and no solid cause was ever established. They were as much of a mystery as time itself.

"How quickly one who is not blessed with insight into the workings of time forgets." The Dragon responded. "Do you not remember, Alexstrasza? The darkness that once was, still sleeps. Before the Titans came, before the dawn of time – an evil forgotten, yet not vanquished. Asleep, but slowly wakening."

"You are referring to the Old Gods." Alexstrasza replied carefully. "We already know about them. They cannot touch as yet, deeply buried in Titan-forged prisons beneath the lands. Are you saying they have something to do with this?"

"They have everything to do with this. They cannot touch you? How foolish. They have already touched you, Alexstrasza, you and every other being in Azeroth. Can you remember Neltharion's fall? It was one of them, then, the same one that shattered the sanity of the Highborne that first moved to Tirisfal. Yogg-Saron's hand tightens around Northrend from his prison in Ulduar, and it won't be long before nothing you, or anyone else, can do to stop him. C'Thun still lies below Ahn'Qiraj, only a portion of his power, his mortal avatar, faced and defeated. These are only three of the five, Alexstrasza. Do you still believe you are out of their grasp? C'Thun's influence tainted some of the Bronze Dragons in Tanaris. Yogg-Saron took advantage of Malygos' weakened state after the destruction of his Dragonflight, driving him mad. Even the Aspects aren't beyond their power."

"What do they have to do with this?" Alexstrasza snapped. Being reminded of how much evil there still was in this world, how much still had to be done, did nothing to improve her mood. Compared to these problems, the Lich King was merely an annoyance. "If you target the Old Gods, why are you attacking time?"

"We have seen the future, Alexstrasza. We have been in the future. We are at the future. Time fades into black as the Old Gods awake, and all is buried in their eternal darkness. There is no escape from this fate. Eternity is vanquished beneath their abominable might. To prevent this, they must never be awoken. The Dark Portal. Its opening propelled the fourth of the Old Gods, buried beneath the Eastern Kingdoms, into Outland, where he has begun corrupting the residents of that forsaken place. The culling of Stratholme. An infinite tribute of blood, feeding the strength of the Old God of Tirisfal. Thrall's escape – the new Horde. Without them, the battle of Mount Hyjal would never have occurred. Nordrassil's cataclysmic destruction removed the seal on yet another of their kin, lying below Ashenvale, and now working to corrupt the Night Elves' new attempt at immortality, driving them insane – it has assaulted the Emerald Dream through the portals of Moonglade, and even Ysera has been tainted, caught – "

"_What?_"

"I said, the Old Gods are – " The Infinite Dragon began, but stopped when he noticed Alexstrasza. Her body was wrapped in flames, and her eyes were burning golden.

"I can see why you wish to change the past, Dragon, just as I could see why Malygos wanted to purge magic from Azeroth. But your attempt is just as much of a folly as his was. The past cannot be changed – must not be changed. The consequences will be dealt with when their time comes. Preemptively trying to bury our mistakes before they come to haunt us is the coward's way – and cowardice will always lead to more pain. Do what you must, and live with it."

"You still fail to understand. The future is set in stone, Alexstrasza. We have seen it. I have seen it. Unless we change the past, Azeroth will die."

"The future is never set in stone, foolish one. Shifting, ever-changing, like a river flowing through the infinite shadow of the Great Dark Beyond – millions upon millions of timelines, parallel but never quite crossing, branching into more, thousands more, each time a decision ever affects the flow of time, heading towards the same end – that's how Nozdormu once described time. Disturb one, and the future might fall apart – not just our future, but the future of all."

"You speak of events like you were there to witness them first hand before the War of the Ancients – but there was no Infinite Dragonflight then, if there is even one now. That can only mean one thing – you existed in another form, and only changed when despair over the future overwhelmed you. Given your abilities, and your form, you are Bronze Dragons who have been corrupted by your own power over time. If that is the case, then Nozdormu is either killed in the future, or is corrupted along with the rest of the Dragonflight, if either fate has not claimed him yet. I certainly hope you are not Nozdormu."

"Why is that?" The Dragon inquired, narrowing his eyes.

"Because you will all die here. I wish I could spend a little more time to find out about you, but if Ysera… if Ysera is under attack from the Old Gods, then it is my duty to protect her."

"Freeze her! Now!" The Infinites' leader roared as he saw Alexstrasza open her jaws – an orb of flame, brighter than the molten core of the Earth, and just as hot, formed inside her open mouth. Even more dragons appeared from gaps in time, each preparing to halt time in its place, but the Red Dragon Aspect was already unleashing her attack, a ball of flame no larger than a small dragon's body that locked down on her target.

"Korialstrasz, take them away!" She yelled, and caught with the corner of her eye the Red, Green and Bronze Dragons flying away like mad.

"This isn't the last you will see of us, Alexstrasza." The Infinite Dragon leader growled, and fled out of time just a fraction of a second before the fireball would hit him.

_Damn_. Well, he had escaped, but the rest…

The sphere of flame collapsed into itself, collapsing into a meltdown. Solar winds burned existence asunder, a prelude to the cataclysmic blast that followed soon thereafter. The heat of a sun, of a thousand suns, all centered around the core of the explosion – everything was turned to ash as soon as the wave of heat came into contact with them. Alexstrasza was unharmed, of course, even though she stood near the core of the supernova she had conjured, but the others… the radius of the molten sphere reached much farther than the ring of Infinite Dragons that perished before they could escape, before they could even think about escaping, reaching high to the skies overhead, out to envelop the ruined battlefield in Angrathar and to the east, near the Obsidian Dragonshrine, farther to the south and to the west, consuming the ice and turning it into a torrent of water in the shape of a huge lake that was immediately vaporized to fumes that rose to cover everything in a thick mist, but even that was dispersed by the heat, and clear sky replaced it when Alexstrasza's wrath subsided, letting the last of the flames die.

Sadly, the Dragonqueen looked around. Many of the Accord's champions had fallen along with their Infinite counterparts. Below them, an endless abyss reached hundreds of meters below Dragonblight, its bottom not even visible, in the smooth shape of a gigantic bowl. Water would eventually flow in from the edges, even though they were too far to see yet. In the end, it would turn into a lake, a small sea in the middle of Northrend. Who would ever know how many animals, how many people had been burned alive by that attack? The fire of life was a tremendous force. Alexstrasza only hoped that something good would come to replace the destruction she had wrought today.

"Korialstrasz, I am leaving." She said briskly, as the Wyrmrest Accord flew towards her – sadly she noticed that only her lover dared approach her closely; the rest, even her own Red Dragons, were keeping her distance, eyeing her with no small measure of fear and wariness. Too many of their own had been caught in that last attack. Another reason to call this land the Dragonblight. It was a large price to pay, if the destruction of the Infinite Dragonflight caused the Wyrmrest Accord to shatter. "I knew there was something wrong with Ysera, but if the Old Gods are behind this… she is my sister, Korialstrasz. I must go."

"I understand." He replied simply. "I will… take care of things here, until you return. Be careful."

Without response, the Dragonqueen turned and sped away, flying over the ocean straight into the heart of Kalimdor, where she hoped to come to Ysera's aid before it was too late, unaware of the consequences of her actions.

Unaware, that she had just given birth to the Infinite Dragonflight.

---

It had only been ten minutes since the Infinite Dragonflight began the siege on Rhonin and the Kirin Tor, who still lay protected beneath their arcane barrier, but it was clear which side was winning. Quite a few attacks had gotten through, and though the might of the Archmages had managed to fell some of the attackers…

Fighting against an army of undead of such massive proportions was dangerous, even with the weapon they had had at their disposal. Fighting against an equal number of Dragons was suicidal. Yet Rhonin was an astute man. The horrible danger had sharpened rather than dulled his senses. And for the moment, his thoughts were drawn to one specific direction.

Timear had been one of those that had been entrusted with the secret of the Kirin Tor's weapon. Before he revealed himself – or rather, _causing_ him to reveal himself – as a traitor, he had done one thing – disabled their access to the wagons that held this artifact. Timear knew that what they had constructed was just about useless against anything not undead. Why had he worked to prevent its use? Why hadn't he stayed amongst them, keeping his identity hidden, then suddenly collapse the barrier from within, allowing the Dragons to massacre them at will? The possible explanations were two. Either they had accidentally created something that could combat the Infinite Dragonflight as well as the Scourge, or there was some connection, some link between the two great plagues of modern Azeroth.

Rhonin and the others had been very careful, very precise in the artifact's construction. Rhonin was as sure as someone could be that it would only function against the undead – with all the caution that had been taken, assuming that incidentally they had managed to create a bane for the Infinite Dragons was a huge stretch. Nothing about the Infinite Dragonflight suggested they were undead, either.

There was something there, and even if Rhonin didn't quite understand it, it was clear to him that he had to make use of it in order to win this fight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes**: As I said two chapters ago, this chapter will close the 'first act', if you want, of this story. Following, there will come a short saga of four mini-chapters concerning past events that played a part in shaping the current situation in Azeroth. Though I'll keep their themes a secret for now, because I enjoy being all mysterious and stuff, I'll at least tell you the title of the first one – it's called _The Raven's Flight_, and concerns Medivh's fate after the end of Warcraft III: The Reign of Chaos up to his recent reappearance.

-eiko: Well, while I certainly do need advice in case I forget or miss something, and I'm sure that however carefully I've planned this story I'll come across those things eventually, but other than that, it's mostly stuff that you liked or didn't like, or stuff that you'd like to see, or anything like that that you can write about.

-Shadow of What Once Was: Rhonin will need to pull some serious Kirin Tor hax out of nowhere to beat this one. Either that, or external help.

-BoromirDefender: Unexpected is what I live for.

-Seproth: Kael's subjugating the Dreadlords… Liadrin believes he was referring to taming a naaru's power, but as we know from other characters' perspectives, it's unlikely that he has managed to do this thus far, so… who knows, really?

Anyway, this here's a special chapter… it came out longer than any other chapter I've written so far, simply because there were so many loose ends to tie off before the interlude. Take a deep breath and enjoy this, and try not to hate me too much for the cliffhanger _.

-----------------------------------------

**Chapter X: The Shadow in the Sky**

An astute tactician and strategist, Rhonin had immediately realized the danger those dragons posed was greater than the Scourge had, even though their number was less than one hundredth of the forces that they had disguised themselves as. He had learnt enough of dragons, either from his own experiences or the words of his mentor, Krasus, or Korialstrasz as the true name of the Red Dragonlord stood, to know they were one of the first races to ever populate Azeroth, and had been chosen by the Titans to preserve the newly-shaped world. The Infinite Dragonflight was an aberration, a miasma to the entirety of the Dragonflights, yet they were dragons nonetheless, and their unpredictability made them even more dangerous.

Considering all this, Rhonin felt lucky that they were faring as well as they did.

He had assembled all the Mages of the Kirin Tor in a circle surrounding the central point of the wagons. The five Archmages that were designated to protect them were now working fervently to unravel the seal that had been placed around them – a barrier woven not of mortal magic, but by the might of the Dragonkin. Rhonin and the rest of the strongest wizards were acting as guides for the combined flow of mana from the rest of their forces. They were split in two groups – one was maintaining a spherical barrier around their location which prevented the Infinite Dragons' attacks from wiping them out, and the others led their own counterattacks through openings in the barrier. Coordinating through magic, although straining and even another diversion, allowed them to time their efforts just right to leave almost no opening for their adversaries. Rhonin himself was responsible for directing the entire defense, and simply having to align so many different signals was taking a huge toll on him. Moreover, they weren't having much success. Though their planning was nigh flawless, some of their attacks inexplicably failed to hit home. Respectively, regardless of their efforts to maintain the barrier's integrity, somehow weak points were found and exploited before Rhonin had a chance to address them, and in the end, more mages lay dead than dragons. The truth was, they needed help, and fast. Either that, or Rhonin's farfetched plan about using their weapon against the dragons had to work. Either was extremely unlikely.

Suddenly, the attacks against them stopped. The barrier around them dropped. Their own attacks diminished. Nothing moved, or spoke, or breathed – not from within, or without the protective circle the Silver Covenant had formed around them. Everyone's heads were turned to the same direction, Dragons and mortals alike. Rhonin did not pay any heed. His whole attention, every inch of himself, was absorbed by the thing that had frozen everyone in place. Trembling, he whispered the words that crossed everyone's heads.

"What is this… this _horrible_ sensation? Who… _what_… is wielding this…"

"…this _monstrous_ amount of magic?!"

---

Everyone had frozen in place. Noone even dared to move. Far to the west, the sky was black, darker than black. A storm raged, a storm not just of lightning and hail, but of huge surges of magic, energies that could erase a citadel the size of Undercity as if it never existed flailing around wildly, uncontrollably, hundreds, thousands of them, an amount of magic unheard of. Lor'themar didn't know what was causing it, and he didn't want to find out – but he was certain about one thing. If Azeroth's existence was to end at some point in time; that time was now.

Compared to that chaos, their battle here was insignificant – everything was insignificant, except grasping that small chance of survival, holding onto it for one moment more, resist that immense fear that the next second would be their last as everything would be sucked into that mad destruction. However, Lor'themar still had a little mind to notice his surroundings. Everyone, from the undead to Kael's elves to the Dreadlords, to Kael himself and his own forces, was staring transfixed at the point where this huge mass of arcane magic, a quantity to make the Sunwell look like a drop before the ocean, originated from. Fear, was the primordial of expressions worn. There was also something else. Lust? Desire to touch that huge mass, even for a second, even if it meant they'd be burnt to cinders where they stood that very same instant? Perhaps. Lor'themar felt it call out to him, as well, and he had never much to do with spellcraft.

But as he watched Kael's eyes, blood-red with agony and pain, he realized that in front of that temptation, those that had left the traitor prince were far better off than his ilk. Every single one of the felblood elves, made to crave demonic magic as a substitute of what they had lost, was now looking westwards with frantic reverence.

And then the mass of magic multiplied a hundredfold, and every other thought was lost to Lor'themar, everything drowned except a desperate effort to keep his feet in place, to prevent his body from involuntarily rushing off to that direction. A pillar of light, piercing the heavens. The echo of an explosion in the distance, far enough that Lor'themar thought nothing short of a second Breaking could have caused it.

The end of the world.

---

"Yer timing is right on spot, old pal." Brann said heartily, slapping High Tinker Gelbin's back with his hand, which called the gnome to nearly fall flat on his face. Well, dwarves weren't known for their delicacy.

"You could've shown your appreciation much better by not knocking me out cold!" The gnome leader growled. But the nonchalant cameraderie between them soon extinguished into seriousness, as they began inspecting the battlefield whose face had changed so much in those last few minutes.

Noone had seen exactly how or why, except perhaps those that had stood close to them at that time, and they were too far away to question, but both the Lich King and Darion Mograine had vanished – judging from the massive hole that was visible even from such a distance as the dwarves stood, plummeted to the depths of the Earth. Though it was too soon to write them off as dead – the Lich King moreso than the Deathknight, but still – the fact remained that without Arthas there, their chances of victory had vastly multiplied. True, the leaders of the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade were valuable assets, but it was a complete, if brutal, truth – were they both to have sacrificed their lives to destroy the Lich King, there was not one man amongst them that would disagree; it was a small price to pay.

Either way, they had to follow up on that sacrifice.

"Prepare for counterattack!!" Muradin yelled. Like one, the dwarves that had stopped their retreat upon the sudden arrival of reinforcements, turned back and begun their counter strike. The Scourge, disoriented by the sudden removal of their leader from the field, were incapable of retaliating against the wave of small, but immensely powerful dwarves, who hacked at them with axes, smashed their skeletal bodies with hammers, or fired explosive mortars at them. Mechanical constructs, driven by the battle-hardier Gnomes, joined the fray, shooting down or simply stomping on the ranks of the undead. They were not the only ones.

Cairne led the assault on both the Tauren and human fronts – with a frown, Brann noticed the distinct absence of any of the humans' figureheads. Tyrande Whisperwind had also again assumed leadership of the Night Elves, plowing through the Scourge with relative ease. Everywhere, the wicked undead were retreating. Though many of their leaders still stood, trying to hold their ranks in place, the Crusade was winning. The reinforcements that had arrived had cut off a large portion of the undead army and were systematically destroying them. The remainder was crushed against the Icecrown Citadel. In a matter of minutes, the fight had turned from suicidal to easy.

_Too_ easy.

"Attack, my warriors! Slay them all, for the glory of the Lich King!!"

Brutal warcries that brought rather unpleasant memories to Brann and Muradin, but also to any seasoned warrior there who had fought in Northrend for any extended period of time, echoed from the North – a black mass of massive shapes began rapidly descending from the mountains that sealed off the Ymirjar citadel from the rest of Icecrown. And it was exactly those Ymirjar, huge, powerful Vrykul warriors, chosen by the Val'kyr battle-callers, one of whom was now floating just out of bowshot urging her troops on, as the elite of the Lich King's armies. Stationed in Ymirheim, those beasts were at the beck and call of their master. And here Brann was wondering where he had kept them for so long.

"Watch yer backs!" He yelled at the others, while at the same time whirling around to face this new threat. Gelbin's hand gripping his wrist, though, stopped him.

"Wha - ?" He turned around questioningly, only to see the gnome pulling an object from his pocket, a rune that glowed a bright blue.

"When I was in Sholazar trying to get those damn brutes to help me", he vaguely pointed in the direction of the Frenzyheart warriors that were killing abominations via the simple method of swamping them from all directions and cutting them to as many pieces as they were formed from, "I met that huge, huge woman." Brann immediately realized what he was talking about – he had already met the Avatar of Freya once, and she made a Tauren look like a flea by comparison. To the miniscule Gnome, it should have been a… hilarious experience. "She gave me this thing, claiming she could not get out of her lands to aid us, but this would summon something that would. What say you, we give this baby a try?" Brann shrugged.

"Ye know me. Always the risky type."

"Aye." Muradin said. "Those Ymirjar are strong. This looks like a good chance."

"Alright." Gelbin said. He raised the rune overhead. "ACTIVATE!!"

Brann sweatdropped. "Ye know, that's not how ancient, Titan-made artifacts are supposed to be – " he cut out with an audible gasp, as the small object began glowing fiercely, and a portal opened, revealing from within –

"The Etymidian, at your command." The giant's mechanical voice was almost as imposing as its form, looming over the miniscule dwarves and gnomes like a siege tower. "Who will lead me to battle against the Scourge?"

"Uh… I will, I guess." The High Tinker said nervously, so busy looking up in astonishment that he did not even notice when he was swooped up by the construct's arms until he was well over a hundred feet into the sky.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!!" The tiny Gnome flailed around wildly, closing his eyes. Brann swallowed a chuckle as he watched the Etymidian put Geblin on the 'cockpit', of sorts. This should fit the Gnome well.

"I am so going to die… wait, what?" Geblin was still yelling, although his tone soon changed from fear to surprise to curiosity to excitement as he inspected his new surroundings. Being able to operate that thing obviously made the crafty Tinker quickly forget the huge distance between him and the ground.

"Go! Let's tear them apart!" The Gnome said savagely, and every dwarf on the field raised his arms and voice with enthusiasm, as the ancient weapon of the Titans set off under the guidance of the last lord of Gnomeregan to fulfill its ancient task – ward Azeroth of all those who would cause it harm. Brann could only watch with no small degree of surprise at the ease the giant demonstrated in dealing with the Vrykul – they fell by the dozens, and soon, the Etymidian began charging what looked like a very powerful blast from its hands – under that strike, they would no doubt –

The storm that was gathering between the giant's hands exploded violently into a burst of sparks, covering the entire battlefield, but few sought cover, even though most of those standing close were torn asunder by the magical release. That amount of power was _nothing_, nothing at all to what was happening far, far to the south. Even to Brann, who had almost a faint, non-existent feel for magic, it seemed as if all the leylines of the world were suddenly redirected into that point, but even if that was the case, nothing could justify the existence of such an immense amount of magic being wielded, not by one person, not by thousands, not by anything that had set foot into this world since the Titans themselves! All the magic, all the power that had been wielded in Icecrown since the battle began, that had been wielded in _Azeroth_ since the _Third War_ began, could only amount to a mere fraction of what was happening at that very moment. In Brann's eyes, there were two possibilities.

Either the Titans themselves had returned for some reason, or soon, the war against the Lich King was going to become the _least_ of the world's problems.

---

On the wings of the storm flew the Red Dragon Aspect over Dragonblight, soon leaving behind the frozen wastelands of Northrend and crossing the ocean in what seemed an eternity to her, but was probably only the blink of an eye for a mortal creature – such was her haste in reaching the Emerald Dream through the only way that was now possible for her, in reaching Ysera before the Dark Gods' grip around her tightened. For though the Infinite Dragonflight were not ones to be trusted, this time, the sense their leader's words made was undeniable. Ysera was in danger, and if she fell, then the entire Dream would collapse, and with it… Alexstrasza couldn't even begin to ponder on the consequences. It was with a very troubled mind indeed that the great leviathan reached the northern outskirts of Ashenvale, and the portal to the Emerald Dream. Just some time back, she could have entered the Dream at will, just like any other versed into its ways, but with the so-called Nightmare wandering along its boundaries, that soon became dangerous and later impossible. Unfortunately, Alexstrasza did not find the portal unguarded – but she hadn't really expected it to be.

"Let me pass, Emeriss." She said in a firm voice, eyeing the enormous shape of the Green Dragon guardian of the portal, now dragged into madness by the touch of the Nightmare, the handiwork of the Old Gods. The fallen wyrm just growled at her, releasing a stream of toxic fumes which Alexstrasza simply incinerated with her fiery breath.

"Stand aside, Emeriss!" The Aspect commanded, putting every ounce of her power and authority into her words. "The Dragonqueen commands it."

"You… are a DISEASE to this world! Your vain pride shall be the downfall of your hopes! I will _destroy_ you, before your foul schemes can further harm these lands!" The gatekeeper took flight, releasing another acidic breath, apparently not even realizing who she was talking to.

"So it has come to this… I hope you will forgive me, Emeriss, and that Ysera will as well. I truly have no other choice." Flapping her wings, Alexstrasza found herself a thousand feet above her adversary, who looked bewildered around to locate where she had vanished to – but Alexstrasza had already opened her jaws, and a sphere of flame, the purging flame of destruction and creation, was flung downwards, growing until it enveloped all, and Emeriss's scream reached the great Dragon's ears as she was burned to dust. Tears of sadness left Alexstrasza's huge eyes, as she descended from the skies to enter the now accessible portal. How many Dragons had been destroyed today by the hand of their very own queen? The duty bestowed upon her was not easy, and the choices she had to make even less so. But there was still hope to cling to. Still.

As Alexstrasza dove into the Dream, though, all such hope was extinguished – behind her, an arcane torrent to dwarf the power of a world's creation rose, a quantity of power to make her own Titan-enhanced strength look like a fragile leaf in the middle of a raging storm – she wanted to turn back, back to the world she was supposed to protect; moving her wings frantically, she tried to push herself out, but she was already halfway through the gate, and the pull was too strong for even her to resist – soon, the serenity of Ysera's world overwhelmed her, and she stepped into the Emerald Dream.

---

From across the darkness of the Twisting Nether, through the Dark Portal, the arcane burst that petrified every denizen of Azeroth reached out into the wastelands of old Draenor, reached into the senses of the former kaldorei champions who were now fighting side-by-side against a common foe, but it was only the afterglow, a faint whisper of something happening far, far away, not nearly enough to shake either Maiev or Illidan off their intended purpose.

Another one, though, who could observe such results, knew better.

Alleria Windrunner, former Ranger-General now Felknight of the Legion, idly tested her bowstring as she observed the battle below. She was stationed atop one of the huge mountains surrounding Shattrath on Nagrand's side, and it was only due to her sharp eyes, with pupils now glowing a deep scarlet, further enhanced by her acute senses, multiplied when she was bound to the Legion, that she could discern what was happening from such a distance. Her armor was black, inscribed with crimson runes, and covered most of her body. A cloak was wrapped around her, sticking out on her large shoulderpads, and would reach all the way down to her feet had she not been sitting cross-legged at the moment. Black, steel-plated boots, heavy enough to tear solid iron apart with a kick but strangely hardly impending to her walking. Though she wore no helmet, the most obvious change lay at her forehead – a crimson-colored gem, occasionally glittering with greenish felfire, was embedded there, as a natural part of her skin – though she could not recall how or when it had been put there, her face hardly felt any different – if she had not looked into a mirror, she would have never realized. Yet now she could sense that this was reacting to the arcane energy raging somewhere in Azeroth. She could not tell the source, exactly, but she knew it had nothing to do with her demonic masters.

Speaking of which, Alleria could not say exactly how she felt about the whole affair. She only had vague recollections of her life before, and all that remained from the intermediate space was a sense of… numbness. And, for lack of a better word… contentment. As long as she was given assignments that she could complete, she felt no worry clouding her mind. Even now as she thought those things, regardless of an inner voice whispering to her that she had to be more worried, she only felt a mild wonder at her situation.

But, there was nothing to do. Kazzak's orders had been to stay put and only intervene at the last moment, if either the Night Elf Warden or the hybrid Demon Hunter seemed to pose a danger to him. Kil'Jaeden's had been quite different. Though Alleria did not care about who she received her instructions from, Kil'Jaeden clearly stood higher on the food chain, so she decided to follow his directions instead. So she once again checked her ebony bow, ensuring it was ready to be used with perfect precision. It would not do to disgrace the title of Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas – or that of the Burning Legion's personal executioner, either.

Frowning, she once again turned to the north. The arcane pulse was intensifying by the moment. Though there was not much room left in her mind for worry or fear, somewhere deep within, Alleria felt _really_ thankful for the fact that she was not in Azeroth at this particular time.

---

"Rhonin, wait – " Vareesa's mouth was left open, hanging in mid-sentence, as she felt space and time warp around her, and the nauseous feeling in her gut that came with instantaneous teleportation. Once the spell was completed, she quickly looked around – her surroundings looked nothing like her former location, she was now standing in the middle of some mountain range, and none of her comrades were in sight. But wait… a key piece to the puzzle was missing. Her feet stirred, then hesitantly tapped.

There was nothing underneath.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

The echoes of her yelp struck against the walls of the extremely narrow hole she was descending through, falling through immeasurable distances into what she could easily imagine as the core of the Earth, cursing her bad luck, Rhonin, and the damn fact that she could _still_ find the situation comical at the very same time.

Her fall ended abruptly, very abruptly, as she was immersed in a cold that froze her to the very core. Too late did she consider that, with the speed she had plummeted into it, if this underground lake was deep enough, she could get carried too far away to be able to make it to the surface alive, and in panic began to resist the force of her free fall. At that moment, though, her butt hit the thankfully soft bottom with a thud that was almost audible even inside the water.

"The next time I see you, I'm going to _butcher_ you!" She growled at an imaginary Rhonin as she pushed herself out of the freezing waters. Taking a look around, her suspicions were confirmed – she was located in the middle of a relatively small lake, who-knows-how-many feet underground. With no point in delaying, she swam to the edge and climbed to the rocky ground. She was _freezing_. The temperature here was enough to make even an elf chill to her bones, and she was soaking wet to boot. Taking off her clothes was out of the question – though she really doubted there was any reason to be concerned about decency this far underground, she had no way to dry either them or herself, and she'd just end up in that much worse a shape. Unable to hold back a sneeze, she cursed Rhonin for the umpteenth time.

"But where exactly is this place?" The question came to her lips as she looked around. The underground cavern was huge, and dark. The only light seemed to come from a corridor leading right in front of her. With the other ways out looking gloomy and black, Vareesa decided it made sense to follow that. Nervous, aware of the echo her footsteps made in this forsaken place, she began walking, heading towards an unknown destination.

And cursing her mule of a husband a few more times, just for the principle of it.

---

The impact was such that the solid rock underneath their bodies cracked and shattered into a small crater. If they hadn't been who they were, they'd both have died on the spot, but as it happened, both the Lich King and the Death Knight survived. Mograine didn't think he would have, but thankfully for him, the undead overlord's body had absorbed much of the force, and as he fell on top of him he managed to escape with a few bruises. The Lich King's breastplate was battered and broken, and Mograine detected some difficulty in him getting up, but he was not delusional – he was in a worse shape, and even if he wasn't, his good luck had just about ended. He was going to die.

"You will pay for this… this _insult_, worm!" Arthas growled and raised his arm, clenching his fist – before Darion could retaliate, invisible chains wrapped around his body, suspending him in mid-air, barely able to breathe; let alone move. The Ashbringer clung dully as it struck the ground.

"This is as far as your power has taken you… I will commend you on remaining an obstacle to my plans for this long, Mograine. Few have managed that. But this is the end of the line for you. First, I will destroy this." The Lich King raised his sword, the dreaded Frostmourne, and prepared to slam it into the sword that lay on the ground.

"The Ashbringer… the only weapon in the world that can defeat this." The Lich King muttered. "A horrifying amount of truth, hidden inside such a tiny hope. But it ends here." The runeblade came down, aiming straight for the crystal that served as the core of the Ashbringer's power.

"What?!" Mograine held the Lich King yell. "How is this – " His words were cut as everything exploded in light, and the Deathknight felt his body being pulled by some immense force that shattered the Lich King's binding spell, dragging him with unbelievable speeds through unknown corridors of the Nether, to finally be ejected into the mortal plane again.

Darion looked up in awe, as his new surroundings came into his field of vision.

---

"Aegwynn, will you come with us?" Jaina asked. She was more than a little overwhelmed by the grudging standstill the ex-Guardian had forced between the two warring armies. The Archmage presumed such force of will came with the status of being a Guardian. It would be far from the first time Aegwynn had impressed her.

"I don't think so." She replied with a smile, eyeing the portal Jaina had just finished opening to Northrend. The cold snows of Icecrown were visible through the shimmering sheet of magic, a desolate place a fair distance away from the spot the battle was carried out – it would be particularly unwise, and fairly dangerous, to open a portal right into the middle of the Scourge, or their allies for that matter. The armies of the Alliance and the Horde were ready to march just behind their leaders. "I won't be of much use there, now, and the excitement might be a bit much at my age."

"It is as you say. Well then, shall we?" Jaina glanced worriedly at both Thrall and Varian, who were still glaring daggers at each other – it seemed that Aegwynn had gotten through to them, though, and their expressions quickly turned meek as sheep once they caught her looking. As one, the King of Stormwind and the Warchief of the Horde, accompanied by the Ruler of Theramore, walked through the portal into –

Jaina felt a vast amount of Mana being molded into a torrent of proportions untold of. With a cry of warning, she tried to step back, but it was already too late – Thrall, Varian and herself were caught between her own, miniscule work of magic and the residue of the cataclysmic spellcraft that had suddenly broken out far to the east. The portal snapped shut, and the three heroes screamed in conjunction as they were taken somewhere far, far away from their intended destination.

When the world stopped spinning around her head, Jaina jumped to her feet, arcane fire already on her palms – she was not faster than Varian or Thrall, who were both standing on either side of her, the first holding both his swords in front of him defensively, the second with his hammer raised preemptively overhead.

"Where… where are we?" Varian said, and though no fear shook his voice, his unease was obvious.

"I don't know." Jaina replied nervously. "Something caused that spell to malfunction." That huge output of energy, and it had vanished since they came here. That much magic should be felt all over Azeroth, from the peaks of the highest mountains to the deepest caverns, in one of which they appeared to be now. So why was there nothing? Even if _that_ had ended, whatever it was, the afterglow should be clearly felt for days to anyone with the least amount of arcane affinity. It still felt like Azeroth… the magical leylines were still aligned to Jaina's sorcery, as proven when she could easily form her fireballs, something she shouldn't have been able to do with such ease if she had been suddenly transported to a different dimension altogether, but…

"Jaina? Jaina Proudmoore?"

Now when you've been teleported in the middle of nowhere by a portal spell gone awry, the last thing you'd expect was someone to suddenly appear and call out your name. All three turned to face this newcomer, only to confront a Vareesa Windrunner, acquainted to Jaina from her days in the Kirin Tor, a Vareesa who managed to look annoyed, relieved, imperious and angry all at the same time. And wet like a cat that just had a bucket of water upended on her head, too.

"Vareesa!" Jaina exclaimed, trying not to laugh at how disheveled the noble High Elf looked. "What… what happened to you?" She asked. "How did you get here? Wait – where _is_ here?"

"I'm here because of the idiot I have for a husband." Vareesa growled, and Jaina once more had to suppress the urge to laugh, while wondering what Rhonin had done to make Vareesa mad at him again. "We were fighting… oh, there will be time for that later. We have more important things to deal with right now. Where we are… I don't know, but unless that man managed to miss with his teleportation more than I believed him idiotic enough to" – at that point, Jaina sweatdropped, recalling it was her own blunder that brought the rest of them here as well, even though it wasn't really her fault – "we should be somewhere below southern Icecrown."

"Wrong." All four turned to face the newcomer, who just walked in the small chamber they stood from a corridor ahead. "We aren't in Icecrown."

"Undead!" Thrall growled, and raised his hammer, only to be stopped by Varian's sword held in front of him.

"Get a hold of yourself, Orc." The human king said calmly. "This is Darion Mograine. He was once a Paladin of the Alliance, and now the leader of the Ebon Blade. Lower your weapon." Finally recognizing one of the most important leaders of the Northrend Vanguard, Thrall lowered his hammer.

"Darion, do you know where we are?" Jaina asked. It was nothing less than a miracle that the five of them just happened to randomly stumble at more or less the same point in the most unlikely of places, but that could wait.

"I was inspecting the ruined gates that lie in the room ahead when I heard your voices." Darion shrugged, raising his shoulders. "Ancient artifacts, and from the style and architecture… though I cannot understand how exactly I got here, there is only one possible place we could be right now."

"This is the entrance to Ulduar, the vault of the Titans, and Yogg-Saron's ageless prison."

---

The sea was black. The sky was black. From within that all-consuming darkness, arcane lightning cackled madly. The Maelstrom raged like never before. Reality itself was torn asunder, as volumes of magical energy incomparable to anything the world had seen since the Sundering itself were released from within, pushing the boundaries of the ever-spinning whirlpool that sealed away the center of the world, expanding it into an apocalyptic storm that threatened to swallow up Azeroth in its entirety.

Just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. Where the Maelstrom had pulsed, the ever-beating heart of the world to remind the mortals of their forefathers' sins, an endless calm sea, reflecting the clear azure of the skies above, reached out to the horizon in every direction.

And from within its depths, a vast army of innumerable black shapes, serpentine men and women, along with other, less humanoid creature, rose to the surface, thousands of them, a black patch in the middle of the ocean.

The Naga had risen from their watery prison after so many centuries. Queen Azshara, proudly standing atop her coral throne carried by a dozen Myrmidons on the head of her vast armies, watched intently the horizon, a wide grin splitting her face, framed by living snakes, in half, giving her an even more monstrous appearance. Once, she had been called beautiful, but all of that beauty had now been mutated into her new form. Four arms, green skin, golden eyes and a lower body that ended in a long serpent tail. And a force of presence so vast, a magical power so enormous that either could make a mortal squirm in fear, beg for death rather than confront her.

This was Azshara, Daughter of the Moon, Light of Lights, Queen of the Naga, the Eternal. She had finally managed to bring the indomitable power of the Maelstrom to heel, free herself from the bonds that held her to the bottom of the sea. And now, the rest of the world would feel the tremendous fury she had had ten thousand years to cultivate.

The end of the world began that day.


End file.
